


oh sinnerman (where you gonna run to?)

by Wyrd_Syster



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: AU Restored Timeline, Angst, Angst and Romance, F/M, Family Angst, Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyrd_Syster/pseuds/Wyrd_Syster
Summary: If only Lila would say something to him, anything. Let him see her, even for a moment. He couldn’t forget her, couldn’t be rid of her, couldn’t have her. And it was driving Diego mad with worry, sick with longing. He loved her, he hated her, he just wanted her to stop running long enough for him to catch up, so they could be on even footing, so he could say something, anything, anything at all.Most of all, he just missed her...OR..It turns out, saving the world from the apocalypse - twice - and time traveling was the easy part. Now back in their restored timeline of 2019, the Hargreeves siblings have to figure out a way to rebuild their lives as a family. Easier said than done, especially for Diego, who can’t stop looking over his shoulder for Lila Pitts. But when she does finally appear, she’s scared and confused. These people offered to be her family, but can they really? And even as she runs back to Diego after every encounter, it becomes clear that nothing he can say or do will entice her to stay. The only person who can stop Lila from running is herself.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts, Klaus Hargreeves & Lila Pitts, Luther Hargreeves & Lila Pitts, Number Five | The Boy & Lila Pitts, Vanya Hargreeves & Lila Pitts
Comments: 81
Kudos: 308





	1. Diego

**Author's Note:**

> The minute Lila Pitts appeared on my screen I immediately decided she was going to be my new fave. Glad me and Diego are on the same page.
> 
> Here's my required "I haven't posted fic in over a year lol my bad guys," introduction, along with the much-loved "not beta'd, errors are my own," disclaimer we all know and love.
> 
> What can I say? I am a sucker for a battle couple that shares a single brain cell. Sue me.

\- - -

For once in his entire life, Diego didn’t mind staying late at the Academy, had no desire to run back to his lonely home, and had no urge to leave his family. They had arrived in the foyer - miraculously upright, clean and sturdy as if it had never been demolished - and someone had suggested the need for a drink and well, after the past few days (months, really) he had to agree that a drink sounded like a good idea.

One drink turned into two, turned into four, turned into the blender being unhoused from behind the bar and filled to the brim with tequila and ice and lime (“and a pinch of sugar,” Allison giggled, throwing in decidedly more than a pinch, “that’s my secret, anyways,”) turned into Luther bringing down his albums to play on the loudspeaker, turned into Klaus and Vanya jumping on the coffee table and dancing, turned into Five laughing so loudly he began to cry... and then bizarrely Diego himself was crying and holding his brother, and then Klaus was holding him, and somehow the Umbrella Academy found themselves in the world’s strangest group hug, all swaying and crying and tethering each other to the here and the now.

They had done it. They had evaded the apocalypse, twice. They were home, they were safe.

Too tired and drunk to make it down the stairs to their bedrooms, they had all fallen asleep strewn about the living room. And when Diego awoke the next morning - sore and stiff from where he had curled up on the loveseat, hands sticky with the sugary residue of whatever Allison had concocted as their nightcap - it was to Luther and Klaus stumbling back in from a trip to the nearest fast food joint, holding bags soaked through with grease that held egg and cheese sandwiches, hashbrowns and bacon.

“And before you ask, you little addict, we bought you some unbelievably overpriced pre-ground beans,” Klaus said, tossing a small bag at Five’s head, who blinked at him blearily. “So we don’t have to hear you complain about shit coffee all morning.”

And later, sipping on the scalding hot cup of black coffee Five poured him, Diego did have to admit that his brother made a damn good brew.

\- - -

There was an old movie that had come out when they were very little about dinosaurs and theme parks. Of course, Sir Reginald had abhorred modern cinema and would never have allowed them to see such filth, but they had all snuck out one night to see a rerun of it at the old cineplex on the other end of town. 

It had been, like all of their teenage schemes, a total and utter failure of an excursion. 

Klaus had snuck out the fire exit to smoke only to find some dealers who were working with the stronger stuff and had followed them down the alley. Allison had rumored them all free snacks but, as she was wont to do when using her powers, had started wanting more and more, and ended up rumoring a girl’s boyfriend away from her, only to have Luther start a fight with the poor kid when he and Allison started making out. Ben had wandered away from the ensuing fight only to be followed by the girl’s friends who knew they couldn’t match Luther but were more than willing to take out their aggression on his quiet, shy brother. Diego had stepped in and ended up sending one of them to the hospital. 

And when they finally fled the scene, police sirens wailing in the distance, they realized they had left Vanya behind at the cineplex. She was escorted home by the cops and refused to speak to any of them for a whole week, glaring at them with that hurt puppy dog face that enraged Diego to no end, especially when she was the only one who had escaped the fury of Sir Reginald for their escapade. Vanya had been sent to her room without supper for one evening, but for the rest of them, their punishments had only begun. 

If he focused, Diego could still remember the echoes of Handel that had accompanied their brutal training that week, the faint sounds of the violin underscoring the rage from their father as he chastised them to get up, lazy and ineffectual, waste of space and waste of talent, get up, get up, _get up_. 

Diego had dislocated his shoulder twice that week, throwing and throwing and throwing his knives until his arm gave out from sheer exhaustion. Then, it had been a sparring match with Allison, her high-kick heel slamming into his weakened socket. It was an old injury by that point, one he would continue to incur many times in his life, but never like that, never one right after the other.

“Diego? Are you okay?” Vanya had asked when she found him in the kitchen, failing at holding back his tears while Mom relocated his arm with a sharp _POP._

“Do I look okay to y-you?” Diego had spluttered. He had grabbed his cup of water with his left hand and thrown it at her head, knocking her to the ground in a sodden mess.

“Diego!” Mom had said, rushing to Vanya’s side.

She sat up, face red, her eye already swelling from the impact and started crying. That had only made Diego madder.

“Get out!” He had shrieked. “Get out! Get out! _Get out!”_

That had simply been life at the Academy when they were kids. All good intentions and bad execution wrapped up in pain and humiliation. Their little outing to the movies had been the last one they had done together, as siblings. Ben had died that same year and with him, whatever tenuous bonds that had held them together as a family had simply disappeared. 

Allison left for California not three months after Ben’s funeral, left in a fury of cold rage, eviscerating their father with a few choice words, denouncing the Academy and her siblings.

“Number Three!” 

Sir Reginald was an angry man by nature, but he so rarely yelled, and almost never at Allison, his perfect soldier. “You will put down that bag immediately and _go to your room!_ You have not been approved to leave this Academy!”

“ _Fuck_ this Academy!” Allison screamed. “This place is a madhouse, it is a _prison_ and I want _nothing_ to do with it anymore, do you hear me? _Nothing!_ ”

“Number Three, you have a responsibility to the world! A responsibility to your siblings!” Sir Reginald was shaking with indignation, his face purple, although if it was from Allison’s disobedience or her swearing even Diego wasn’t sure. None of them had ever sworn in his presence before. 

“You will cease this selfish behavior at once and _go to your room!_ ”

Allison stared at her siblings, gathered around the balcony, watching the scene unfold. Diego and Klaus on one side, Vanya on the other, gripping Mom’s hand. She looked at Luther, standing at their father’s side, the one person she had trusted with her escape plan and the one who ratted her out. He refused to meet her gaze.

“I have no siblings,” Allison said, coldly. “I had a brother. Ben. But he’s gone now.”

“Number Six - ”

“His name was _Ben_ ,” Allison hissed. “And you killed him. You all killed him. I am not sticking around to be the next one. I’m done.”

She turned away from them, grabbed her one suitcase and marched towards the door.

“Allison, please, wait!” Luther caught ahold of her arm, drawing her back to him. 

“Please don’t leave,” he whispered. “We need you. _I_ need you. Please don’t do this.”

Allison placed her hand on Luther’s cheek. The rage radiating off her was strong enough to level mountains. She could’ve killed him where he stood, humiliated him, ground him beneath her heel like a pill bug. Diego knew she wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ hurt him even after what he’d done. But still, their Number One should’ve known better.

“I heard a rumor you let me go.”

She didn’t turn around again. The door slammed behind her with a sickening crunch and very faintly, over the sound of his brother’s crying, Diego could hear the engine of a taxi revving up and spiriting his sister away.

It took a few months to gather what he needed, but Diego’s mind had been made up. Although he would never admit it, he was impressed by Allison and, emboldened by her self-exile, he knew it was time for him to leave as well. He imagined a scene much like her grand exit but bigger - one where he belittled his father, spat back all the venom he had collected through his childhood, and didn’t stutter once. Where even Luther would be impressed by his gravitas and independence, where Vanya would be inspired to stick up for her siblings just this once, freeing them all from Sir Reginald and the Academy… 

But in the end, Diego had simply walked out the front door and never came back. It had been easier that way.

He learned later that Klaus had been forced to leave by their father, packed up and sent to a rehab facility, although he did not return to the Academy like he was supposed to upon his release. Vanya, who even then failed to understand how special she was compared to her siblings, had been the only one of them to go to school and left for university that fall. And Luther, the big stupid oaf, only left when he was forced, manipulated into forsaking his home for the moon, for a higher purpose that never was.

And now, years later, here they all were. Back home, together. It was surreal and wonderful and horrible at the same time. Like prodding at a half-healed bruise, the pain was real and tangible, existing just below the surface even as they thought themselves healed. Suddenly bereft of father, mother and Pogo in one fell swoop, they only had each other to lean on.

But, as that one man had said in the film that had gotten them all in so much trouble, life finds a way. 

During that first morning back, nursing her third cup of coffee and a hangover, Allison laid out her plans. Of course, the idea of returning to California now seemed unthinkable, not when they had only just found each other again. And it wasn’t unheard of for movie stars to try their hand at the theater.

“You are my family,” she said firmly. “And family sticks together. I belong here.”

The question, of course, was what to do about Claire. Patrick still had full custody and lived in Los Angeles, and Allison’s visitation rights were dependent on continued counseling. 

Still, Vanya pointed out, it wasn’t like they didn’t have top-notch therapists on this side of the country, and she was happy to refer Allison to the woman she had been seeing. Allison readily accepted, scheduling an appointment and booking her flight back to California to see Claire, collect her belongings and sort out her move and new counseling requirements with the judge overseeing her custody case.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” Luther asked. “To help you pack, and all.”

Diego had expected Allison to wave him off and claim this was something she had to do by herself, so he was surprised when she nodded in agreement.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she mused. “I have a lot to pack, and I really hate seeing that judge with just my lawyer, it would be nice to have some support.” 

She turned to her sister. “Vanya, will you come with me?”

They left that evening on a red-eye. If Vanya was nervous about her first cross-country flight she didn’t show it, although Diego didn’t miss how Klaus discretely slipped a few Xanax pills into her palm.

“Just in case,” he winked at her.

With the girls gone, the boys got to work. It was a mostly unanimous decision that the Academy had to be sold - Allison had contacted a realtor to find her a new place in the city, and Vanya had no interest in giving up her apartment. And even if Grace and Pogo had still been around, the space was much too big for them. 

Luther was the only one unhappy about the decision, but it was a five-to-one vote and instead of pulling rank, he had hung his head and agreed that maybe a fresh start wasn’t such a bad idea. Even Diego was privately impressed by his brother’s growth.

Diego and Luther hired a lawyer who was tasked at finding a buyer while Klaus and Five were instructed to find a suitable apartment and a new wardrobe that didn’t consist of knee socks and blazers. Unsurprisingly, finding age appropriate clothes for Five had been a nightmare, and they had returned from their first outing laden with bags for Klaus and only a single, seven-pack of underwear for Five.

“Why did you buy eight new silk blouses when Five only has one pair of socks?” Luther asked, exasperated.

“These were on sale and I needed them!” Klaus cried, clutching a red-and-pink shirt to his chest. “Besides, the little one is picky! He didn’t like a single thing!”

“The ‘little one’ is a grown-ass man who _refuses_ to wear shirts with cartoon _sponges_ on them,” Five snapped. “If this is what you kids call _fashion_ these days then I want no part of it!”

The apartment hunting had, on the other hand, been a surprising success. Five, of course, couldn’t live on his own and, although he was now mostly sober, neither could Klaus. And while Luther had been able to fend for himself a while year in Dallas in that rented room, he admitted that the landlady had done all the washing and he had only ever learned to cook one meal - scrambled eggs. 

Diego knew a recipe for disaster when he saw one and agreed to move out of his room at the boxing ring and join them. “But only for a year,” he warned. “Only for you idiots to get your lives together, then I’m out.”

But when they finally got a look at the place Five and Klaus had found, he wondered if he had been overhasty with his declaration; maybe two years wouldn’t hurt. The apartment was a four room, recently renovated space at the top of a five-floor walk-up. There was no working elevator or laundry onsite, but the appliances were all mostly-new, and the windows in the dedicated living space took up an entire wall, filling the whole apartment with soft, yellow light. It was far from the Academy but close to Vanya’s building. They signed immediately. 

First and last month’s rent completely emptied out Diego’s savings, but the lawyer handling the final sale of the Academy promised a buy-out that would keep all four of them fed, clothed and housed for nearly a decade should they choose not to work.

“Which obviously is not an option,” Allison said.

She was back in the city now and in her new place, a three-room penthouse close to the theater district. They were all helping her unpack which she ‘supervised’ - which meant telling them what they were doing wrong and warning them to not break her valuables, while also agreeing to pay for the beer and pizza deliveries. Somehow, supervising also meant doling out life advice, although Diego and Vanya were exempt from Allison’s mothering since they were both, in her words, “tax-paying, working adults.”

“You need a purpose and a way to define yourself beyond the Umbrella Academy,” Allison said, handing Luther a beer. She leveled her glare at Five and Klaus who had just picked up the pizzas from downstairs. “And don’t even get me started on you two.”

As Allison predicted, her transition from the silver screen to the golden halls of the theater went off without a hitch. Upon announcing her move, she was immediately called-up by no less than four directors who were all eager to have her headline their newest productions. And for weeks, the magazines ran story after story about her new theatrical path, speculating about what had instigated this big change - her public and messy divorce, the death of a beloved father, or the rekindling of familial ties?

“ _‘No one can argue that Ms. Hargreeves’s year has been rocked by disaster and tragedy,’_ ” Allison read out loud from one salacious rag, sitting on an overturned cardboard box, pizza in one hand and magazine in the other.

“ _‘But, from such dire circumstances, shall we herald in a new age of theatrics? She would, of course, not be the first phoenix to rise from the ashes of personal catastrophe. Given her illustrious career in film, this humble critic firmly believes that Ms. Hargreeves will be using her new path to channel insurmountable pain, bringing us along on her journey of healing and redemption under the direction of critically acclaimed director, Hiram Coram,’_ oh this is such shit,” Allison laughed. “I haven’t even auditioned for Hiram yet, the nerve.”

When she did eventually audition and sign with Hiram, it was under the condition that he find a place for her brother, Klaus. Although he had no technical skills to speak of and was unsuited to be a stagehand, could barely thread a needle for his shaking hands - which made him just a nuisance in the costuming department - and posed an honest-to-god fire risk for the lighting crew, Klaus did have a keen eye and lots of opinions. He had an innate sense of how scenes should look and feel, and the director took note, asking him to weigh-in on all the creative choices.

“Who knew you could make a living for simply having taste?” Klaus asked, amazed.

Within months, Klaus had earned a reputation around the theater district - a good one, for a change - and was hired as a consultant in a number of new productions, even ones that Allison was not directly involved in.

Job hunting for Luther was a little more difficult. He lacked the skillset and education for many of the openings around the city, was bad at sales, lasted just under an hour as a server, and was unqualified for secretarial work. That one didn’t bother him as much.

“Can you even imagine me in a suit and tie behind a typewriter all day?” He asked, grimacing.

It was only when he stopped by Icarus Theatre to pick Vanya up for a lunch date when opportunity struck. The stagehands had been down a worker for the day and asked Luther if he could help move some of the heavier set pieces up from storage. Not only was Luther happy to oblige, he did it in half the time and with no complaints. By the time he and Vanya got back from lunch, the union had written up the paperwork for him to join their crew.

Even Five had settled in to his new life, enrolling at the local community college for a degree in advanced mathematics. He was, ironically, on-track to be the youngest department graduate ever. Challenged and scheduled - and finally outfitted in jeans and simple button downs - Five grew less combative and twitchy, even downright happy some days. Although he made no effort to know his teachers or his classmates, the work itself seemed to delight him, and it was not uncommon to come home and find Five engrossed in a textbook or writing out long form equations on a whiteboard Luther had installed in the kitchen (“For grocery lists only,” he had explained as Klaus doodled obscene stick figures on it). 

As for Diego, moving out of the boxing ring had been a whirlwind, in more ways than one. Sal had been surprisingly sad to see him go, although it was more for the loss of cheap labor than for any affection he held for his boarder. 

“I am never going to find another janitor who works for so little,” he whined.

But even as he complained about finances, he offered Diego a paid position at the gym as a boxing coach. 

“I get more clients, I keep ‘em happy, I can charge ‘em more and pay a janitor,” Sal reasoned.

Even as distracted as he was by the other events of the day, Diego knew he would’ve been a fool to say no. 

Life, seemingly, had found a way. 

And it was all good, so good. For once in his life, Diego felt something akin to peace, to happiness. He had his family, he had a job, things were going well. It really would have been perfect, if only he could forget about Lila.

\- - -

When Diego had let Lila run off with the suitcase, he had done it because he loved her. And although he knew shit-all about love, wasn’t that what you were supposed to do, let the people you love go? In that split second when she had dashed for the suitcase, it had seemed like the right move. He knew all about running when things got hard, so who was he to force her to stay? He felt, intrinsically, that she would be back. She had to come back, he loved her, and he knew she loved him. 

And so he wasn’t surprised when she did return, not really. He was surprised, though, by how much it hurt.

The first time he saw her was when he and Luther were packing up his room at Sal’s. It was nearly May, and the day was warm and muggy, with the threat of a thunderstorm in the air. Sal was putzing around the ring in his usual, annoyed manner, grumbling loudly about what a pain this all was, and Luther had a lot of opinions about the best way to organize and pack-up the room for someone who had never moved before.

Annoyed and on edge, Diego had left them both in the gym and went to load boxes into the car, sweating in the humidity, glad to have a moment to himself. It was only when he closed the trunk that he realized he was being watched. 

Heart rate suddenly racing, stomach plummeting like a stone, he leaned slightly to the right and saw her reflected in the passenger-side mirror. She was a little ways off, more of a blur than a figure, but he knew. He would know her anywhere. 

She must have sensed his recognition because in the next moment she was gone. Diego turned quickly, scanning the lot for her, running towards where he thought she might be. He heard the clatter of footfalls and followed them around the corner into the alley behind the gym.

As he turned he saw her, and she saw him. The suitcase was clutched in her hands, already quivering with blue light. Her eyes were wide, scared, like a cornered animal.

“Lila - ”

But she was already gone. 

She did a much better job at hiding herself over the next few months. Diego wouldn’t see her, but could feel the hairs on the back of his neck tickling with the sensation of being watched, would hear the distinct, electric crackle of time travel, could even see the phosphorescent blue light in the distance. But when he would turn to face her, run after the lights and the sound, she was gone. 

Always gone.

He started doubting she would ever return. What a goddamn fool he was, letting her run off like that. He should have stopped her, made her stay with him. But of course, she probably wouldn’t have stayed, not when it was so apparent she didn’t want to be seen now. 

In his bad moments, he convinced himself she never loved him. 

In his darker moments, he convinced himself he never loved her.

But then he would see her out of the corner of his eye, touch the bracelet she had left behind, and his stomach would sink all over again, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

What to do with a love like this? God, as much as he loved her, he hated her in equal parts. Her betrayal buried deep in his heart like a thorn, watered with his own doubt, his anguish. 

At night he would glare into the shadows of his ceiling, seeing all her duplicity play out like a bad film. Her incessant babbling in the asylum, the empty spot on the bed when he had woken up in Elliot’s, expecting her to be there. The way she had run after Five in the consulate, the way her face blurred when she’d drugged him. The unbridled fury in her eyes as she stood next to the Handler in the field.

He hated her. He wanted to hate her, at least. But hating her wasn’t satisfying enough, felt hollow and fake. His hate, like everything else in his life, was too complicated to be packed away in a neat box.

For every lie he could not forget the the truth of her. How she poked and prodded him, looking for weakness, pleased when she elicited a reaction. As much as he’d shout and yell and curse at her, she’d always sidle back to his side, all wide-eyed mock innocence and teasing smiles. The way she orbited him like a satellite, close but never touching, then touching but never melding. She was brazen as the sun, singular and playful, sad and thoughtless. 

She once told him he was an open book, written for very dumb children. He understood the joke of it now, the truth she had lobbed at him hidden in an insult; that they were the same - two open books, mishandled and abused, waiting for someone to understand them, not shy away from their torn edges, and treat them softly.

If only Lila would say something to him, anything. Let him see her, even for a moment. He couldn’t forget her, couldn’t be rid of her, couldn’t have her. And it was driving Diego mad with worry, sick with longing. He loved her, he hated her, he just wanted her to stop running long enough for him to catch up, so they could be on even footing, so he could say something, anything, anything at all.

Most of all, he just missed her.

\- - -

After a few months, Vanya called Diego and asked if he could drive her to the other side of town. Her violin needed some work done, and it would take over an hour to get to her preferred shop by bus, but half the time if he could drive her there directly. It was out of his way, would require him to wait around for ages as they fixed up the instrument, and would eat into his one day off a week, but Diego agreed.

“Thanks, I owe you one,” Vanya said as she carefully strapped her violin into the backseat like a child before sliding into the passenger’s side. “You have no idea what a bitch it is to lug this thing around the city on public transportation.”

“I can only imagine,” Diego said.

Traffic was light and they made good time across the city, but Vanya seemed distracted. She waved off Diego’s attempts at small talk and turned up the radio almost immediately, staring out the window at the passing streets. He let it slide, assuming she was worried about the cost of her tuneup. That should have been the first red flag.

They dropped the violin off in the small shop, which smelled like wood chips and rosin, and were instructed to return in an hour. Vanya suggested they wait at a coffee shop nearby and even offered to pay. That should have been the second red flag, but Diego ignored this one too.

It was only when they were sitting at their table in the corner of the patio, shaded from the bright, fall sunlight by the heavy boughs of a tree turning red that he got a good look at his sister and realized something was up. Vanya was avoiding his gaze, picking at the wood of the table, tapping her fingers on her coffee mug, answering his questions too quickly.

“Alright Van, cut the shit,” Diego said. “What is it?”

At least she had the decency to know when she was caught. Sheepishly, Vanya chewed her lip, looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, and started to say something but then thought better of it, gulping down her coffee.

“Seriously?”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I actually...I wanted to talk to you about...something.” 

Diego, agitated by her flustering, struggled to remain calm. “I can see that,” he said.

“Just...don’t get mad, okay?”

“I won’t get mad.”

“You promise?”

“No,” he said. “C’mon, Van, you’re freaking me out here. What is it?”

Vanya took a deep breath and finally looked him in the eye.

“I saw Lila.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate the support! Comment/like/whatever if you liked, send hate mail to @wyrd-syster on tumblr.


	2. Vanya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two things were starting to become abundantly clear: One, Lila posed her no threat, now now at least. And two, Lila needed help.

\- - -

It was an odd thing, being back together like this. Even the phrase _back together_ felt odd, because they had never truly been together, had they? Seven strangers brought up like siblings, who had no clue how to be themselves, let alone a family. But that’s what they were, a family. Broken and strange and mismatched, but there you were. 

Sometimes, the force of the strangeness left Vanya feeling winded. 

She often found herself off balance with them, having difficulty reconciling the aloof, cruel teenagers of her childhood with the siblings she had today. She had to remind herself constantly how far they had all come; who they were, not who they had been.

These were her brothers - not Number One and Number Two, the bullies, but Luther and Diego, who were both a little broken in their own rights, a little angry but not without reason, loving but with no idea what to do with their love. 

This was Klaus, not Number Four the Screwup, but Klaus; who felt too much and saw too much, who grew exhausted from the great shifting gears of the world but didn’t know how to rest without help.

This was Five, still the snarky piece of shit from her memories, but fearful. Scared of forces beyond his control that could take him from them at any moment. An old man and a young boy at the same time, too old to still be so jealous of peace, too young to give up without a fight.

And this was Allison, not Number Three the Golden Child, the Superstar, the Perfect One. This was Allison, her sister, who was selfish and knew it, who was constantly at war with the darker parts of herself, agonizing over her own growth, watching her every step as she tried to guide herself back to the light, focused on _earning_ and not _deserving_ of what she acquired.

So where did Vanya fit into this? Number Seven still, with too much to say and too small a voice to say it, scared of being by herself but scared of being with them.

It was an odd thing, those first couple weeks back, learning how to let them in to her life, learning how define herself in a way that wasn’t diametrically opposed to their existence. After all, she did have powers now, did need to learn how to control them without pills and violence, and who better to lean on for support than the Umbrella Academy alumni?

They set up routines. Allison started printing weekly calendars and would regularly drop by Sundays with new schedules - _Picnic at the Park - everyone_ , _Action Movie Night - Diego and Luther_ , _Shopping Trip - Girls Only (and Klaus), School Orientation - Five and Allison_. 

“This is so lame,” Diego complained, reading the latest weekly print-out ( _“Farmer’s Market - Diego and Allison”_ ). “What are we, an All-American sitcom? What’s with all the forced family fun? We can’t be trusted to see each other normally, you know, let things evolve naturally?”

“No, because this family has never been natural or normal,” Allison said. “And, honestly Diego, if I can prove to the courts I have a good thing going here with a supportive family it will be _that_ much easier to get Claire. Can you do this for me? Just for a little while, then we can try it your way without the forced family fun, I promise.”

Vanya, always impressed by her sister, still found herself amazed by her deft handling of their brothers. And although she privately agreed with Diego that this whole system seemed a bit over the top, it was nice not having to be the one to make the first move.

So, she went where her calendar told her to go. The picnic was a nightmare - too hot and too many ants, but the movies were nice. Shopping wasn’t all that bad either, she even let Klaus talk her into buying a pair of skinny jeans. 

And suddenly, they were scheduling time to see each other without the help of Allison’s calendars.

Luther called and asked if she had been to a sandwich shop by the Icarus Theater where they boasted the city’s hardest foodie challenge (“Five double-decker sandwiches and half a pound of fries in under thirty minutes for a year’s worth of free meals? C’mon, that’s not even a challenge,”) and if she hadn’t been, maybe she’d like to come with? He didn’t know the area that well. 

(Unsurprisingly, Luther finished it in fifteen minutes and handed Vanya the meal voucher, which meant she suddenly didn’t have to worry about packing lunch for a whole year.)

Then, it was parent’s weekend at the community college where Five was enrolled, and everyone else was too embarrassing to be seen with, but Vanya was welcome to drop by if she wasn’t too busy. She did, and he dragged her from room to room, pointing out where he sat, the teacher’s he was smarter than, and the library whose ruins he’d hunkered down in during the apocalypse. And when he introduced her around as “my little sister, Vanya,” she found she didn’t even care about the bemused looks they received; it was her first inside joke, and it got funnier every time.

One day, Diego stopped by when she was done giving private lessons and handed her a flyer for a gym down the road. It had suddenly dawned on him, he explained, that Vanya had never trained with the rest of her siblings at the Academy, and therefore didn’t know how to defend herself without her powers. He had gone ahead and signed her up for a beginners martial arts course, which she was only a little annoyed by, but obliged him nonetheless. 

After the first few excruciating lessons, the movements became easier and she didn’t feel like her muscles were about to collapse from simply sitting and standing in the days that followed. Even better, Vanya was surprised to find how elated and centered she would feel after a session of sparring. Diego would drop by every so often to observe and test her skills, and the first time she landed a punch, he took her out for a celebratory beer.

(“But you only get one punch, Van,” he warned. “Any more and I’m taking your ass down.”)

Even Allison ended up dropping her incessant scheduling after a few weeks, and it stopped being a surprise to walk out from orchestra rehearsal to find her and Klaus waiting to whisk her away to dinner and drinks, or back to one of their home’s for a game night.

And when Vanya peaked out from behind the wings before her first concert back and saw her family sitting in their reserved seats, she nearly burst into tears. She held it together until after the show, but when they descended on her with flowers and congratulations, she let herself be overcome.

So this was family, was it? Broken and smarting like a paper cut doused in lemon juice, but healing; knitting itself back together like sinews of skin. There was no erasing the past, no smoothing over rocky terrain, but there was movement forward. One day at a time, one foot in front of the other. A hard journey, not without its pitfalls, but for once they all seemed to be willing to _try_ to be together.

Even still, when Vanya saw Lila that morning in late September, she was surprised by her own overwhelming need to try and help.

Vanya had never been a helper, had not been raised that way and had a very low success rate with her attempts throughout the years. One of her therapists once wondered if her moments of altruism was less about doing good and more about proving her worth to others. Vanya wondered why she was paying a therapist to bully her when she had four adult siblings who would do the job for free. So the urge to do something for Lila, for this dangerous girl who had threatened her family, well, it caught her off guard. 

Although the day was supposed to be warm, it was chilly when Vanya stepped outside onto her front stoop that morning, chilly and blue with fog that hadn’t yet been burned away in the sunlight. She shivered in her light jacket and turned to lock up front door behind her when she noticed a figure in the frosted pane glass windows.

When they began cleaning up the Academy for its final sale, the Hargreeves siblings had stumbled upon Sir Reginald’s journals. Cruel and cold, he documented every movement of his children like lab rats undergoing stress tests. Most of the notes had been judgmental ramblings about their own ineptitude, but the siblings had found the odd nugget of wisdom here or there, especially the suggestions about “untapped potential.” These theoretical notes about Vanya had taken up four pages.

The forcefield Sir Reginald had speculated about wasn’t too hard to master and surprisingly easy to maintain. With only the barest amount of concentration, Vanya could send out low-frequency sound waves in a specified radius around her body, and like a bat using echolocation, feel for objects in her path. She’d began to keep this field up at all times and was relatively attuned to this new sixth sense, which is why it instantly set her on high-alert when the figure in the reflection didn’t register within her field.

In all her life, Vanya knew of only one other person who could manipulate sound waves.

She was suddenly much colder, fear sluicing through her veins like ice. No one had yet explained what she was supposed to do when encountering an enemy. Did they have a bat symbol she needed to activate, a magic word she was supposed to whisper into a phone tree to let her siblings know they were in trouble?

She started trembling and lost hold of her keys. They jangled sharply as they hit the concrete and in that moment, Vanya felt her powers recede and converge like a tidal wave, ready to break against the street. She turned sharply to face Lila and - 

“My dear, is everything alright? You look positively green about the gills.” 

Mrs. Kowalski bustled up from across the street, passing right next to Lila’s hiding place, paper in one hand and coffee tumbler in the other. She peered at Vanya over the top of her jewel-toned readers. 

“By the way, Valerie dear, you haven’t seen Mr. Puddles this morning, have you? I let him out last night to chase a rat and he hasn’t come back yet.”

“No, Mrs. Kowalski, haven’t seen him,” Vanya said. She stooped to collect her eyes, keeping her eyes trained on the top of Lila’s head peaking out from just behind the garbage cans next to the coffee shop across the street. 

“But I’ll be sure to let you know if I do.”

Mrs. Kowalski beamed. 

“You’re such a good girl,” she said, lightly pushing Vanya out of the way to get to the front door. “No need to lock-up, I’ll see to it now. You have a lovely day, Valerie.”

“Yeah, you too, Mrs. Kowalski.”

It took Vanya a moment to process all that had just happened. 

In that split second when Vanya had turned, she had gotten a good look at Lila and was surprised by what she saw. In her memory, Lila was a boogeyman, slim and sharp as a pocketknife but twice as deadly. In her nightmares she saw Lila rise into the air, her brown skin glowing ethereal white against the snow as she absorbed Vanya’s shock and blasted it back at her. 

But even these memories of the terror she unleashed didn’t fit with the other Lila, the broken one who faced Diego, shaking and scared, eyes darting about, looking for a weakness, an exit. Who let him approach her, who gravitated towards him as he spoke to her in a low, calm voice, who seemed to soften under his gaze.

After Lila disappeared from the barn, Diego had refused to speak about her to anyone. No matter how many times Klaus or Allison needled him, no matter how many snide comments Five and Luther shot his way, Diego ignored any conversations that concerned her. Vanya never asked him what had happened, because as far as she was concerned, it was none of her business. She recognized her brother was hurting, knew something about being manipulated by the person who claimed to love you. So she waited, knowing Diego would talk when he was ready.

But she had figured any conversations they would’ve had would be _before_ Lila reappeared. Now she crouching behind the garbage cans across from Vanya’s apartment building, her face thin and weathered, eyes rimmed in kohl and unnaturally big above pronounced cheekbones, thin shoulders visible through a raggedy sweater. 

She turned and made her way down the street, fighting to regain her composure. In every window she passed, her eyes caught the reflection of Lila, who was very obviously following close behind, even if Vanya’s sound waves washed over her like nothing was there.

And with every block she crossed that didn’t end in an attack, her nerves began to settle. Two things were starting to become abundantly clear: One, Lila posed her no threat, now now at least. And two, Lila needed help. 

\- - -

It was Friday, which meant a mostly free day for Vanya. She had a concert that evening, a small, discounted affair for the local schools, but until call time at six, the day was entirely her own.

So, even with this shadow dogging her footsteps, Vanya went about her day as normal. 

She first went to the market and picked up her groceries for the week. Acting on her newfound impulse to help, she even picked up a few extra things she thought her tail might like - breakfast bars, bags of fruit-shaped gummies, a few apples, one of those water bottles that came with a protein packs and a mixer, even a king-sized chocolate bar.

“Going on a trip?” The cashier asked, eyeing Vanya’s boxes of shelf-stable food oddly.

“Not sure yet,” Vanya replied. “Just like to be ready for anything.”

When she got back to her building, Vanya took the extra plastic bag of groceries and placed them on the stoop before heading up the stairs to her apartment. She was back inside for only a moment when she heard the tell-tale crackle of time travel coming from somewhere over her head on the roof. But when she peered down from her window to the street, the plastic bag was gone.

After unpacking her groceries and changing, Vanya left again, this time headed in the opposite direction towards her gym. It was a simple place, one of those high-end minimalist establishments you could find all over the city with an exterior composed of floor-to-ceiling windows and a back wall of ballet mirrors and stabilizing bars.

It would be no use hiding from her there, and so Lila didn’t even try. During her hour session, Vanya kept constant tabs on her as she sat at the bus stop across the street. 

Watching. 

Waiting.

_But waiting for what?_ Vanya wondered as she aimed another high-kick at her partner’s padded hands, missing by a mile.

Apologizing with a grimace, Vanya left the mat and went to cool down. She was distracted today, for obvious reasons, and felt dizzyingly like a hamster running on a wheel in a glass case. Going, going, going but never gone. Was that what Lila wanted? To throw her off her routine, make her uneasy, make her lose control?

But no, there were better ways to do that then by just watching her.

She was tempted to call her family; any one of them would know what to do here. But they might also blow it out of proportion. Lila wasn’t _doing_ anything, but Vanya knew that even the slightest indication of a future threat might drive some of her more rash siblings to do something stupid.

The thing was, Diego might know what to do. But Lila hadn’t chosen to stalk Diego, she had chosen to stalk _her_. That meant something, didn’t it? Even as she tried to make sense of this all, Vanya knew there was a good reason not to involve her brother. She just had to keep doing…whatever it was she was doing. 

For lunch, she ordered two salads from the bistro across from the gym and walked to the park to eat, leaving the extra on a bench a few feet away. Vanya did not turn look at Lila when she sat down, did not acknowledge her as she opened the plastic container and began to dig in with just her hands, although it took all her self-control not to point out the utensils were in the bag.

After lunch, Vanya wandered. She picked up her dry cleaning, returned a book at the public library, but there was no where else to go. Normally she would’ve stopped by the theater district to see Klaus and Allison, or gone by the community college to get a coffee with Five before his next class. But her shadow tugged at her periphery, and so she chose to stick to her ambling path.

It was only as the sun started its descent that Vanya returned home. The crunch of the gravel on the rooftop reminded her she was not alone, so she locked the doors as she showered - a useless precaution, what lock could hold back a Commission-raised mercenary? - and kept her blinds firmly sealed as she dressed in her concert blacks and fixed her hair.

Just before she left, Vanya made a decision. From the back of her closet she unearthed her thick, black overcoat - three times her size, which made it ideal for bulky sweaters and as a hand-me-down for slightly taller women - and folded it on her bed next to the guest towel. She hesitated for only a moment in the kitchen before fixing a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich and placing it next to a glass of milk. She wished she could do more, but it was the only comfort food she knew how to make in a pinch.

Then there was nothing left for it. Vanya went to the window in her bedroom and opened it, making as much noise as possible. She peered up the fire escape and could just make out the blur of a face hiding from view.

“I’m going now,” Vanya called up. “I have a concert. At the Icarus Theater. It’s downtown?” 

_Was that a question?!_ Vanya cursed under her breath before starting again.

“There’s uh, a towel here. For you. If you wanted…the hot water doesn’t always work right away but the pressure is good. And, uh…a sandwich? If you’re okay with peanut butter. Just, um,” she took a deep breath. “I’m locking the door behind me so if you could just lock the window? Whenever you’re ready. Thanks.”

There was no response. Not like she was expecting one, anyways.

\- - - 

Vanya was a professional violinist, a self-respecting, classically trained artist at the height of her career. So while she would never admit it to any of her fellow musicians, pops concerts were her favorite.

Oh, sure, Brahms was nice and Stravinsky was challenging and the lyricism of Mozart wrapped around her like a comforting blanket against the chill of bad memories, but there was something to be said for the way Shania Twain sounded as an orchestral arrangement. Vanya liked the satisfaction she got from hearing a song on the radio, picking up her instrument, plucking along on the strings until she unlocked the tune and, with bow in hand, accompanying the singer with a swelling _glissando._ In those moments, at these concerts, music felt less like a pastime for the nouveau riche and more like something to be shared.

The school children who made up their audiences on every third Friday of the month seemed to agree. 

So as the night wore on, Vanya found herself more focused on the joy of the music than Lila, and nearly had her out of her mind entirely until intermission. 

With just over five minutes left until they were to be back onstage and the line for the bathroom still four people deep, Vanya ventured into the lobby to use the girl’s toilet. She had just opened the door into the deserted marble reception area when there she was, one hand on the exit, shocked into stillness by Vanya’s sudden appearance. 

Lila.

They stared at each other. Now face-to-face with her shadow, Vanya wasn’t sure what to say, and it seemed as if Lila was facing the same problem.

The house lights dimmed and brightened, dimmed and brightened; the five minute warning.

Lila broke the silence first.

“You should be getting back.”

She pushed the door open and was halfway out onto the street before she stopped, looking back over her shoulder at Vanya, who still hadn’t moved.

“You play very well,” she said.

It was only when Vanya was back onstage and organizing the sheet music on her stand that she realized Lila had been wearing the coat she left for her.

When she got home, Vanya found her bedroom window locked and the damp guest towel lying next to her laundry hamper in the bathroom. The sandwich was only half eaten though, and beneath the plate she found a yellow sticky note.

_Too sweet_  
 _XXX  
_ _L._

It was nearly midnight, but Vanya knew someone would be up. The phone rang only twice before the line connected.

“Yo, Hargreeves’s.” 

Vanya cleared her throat. “Hey Diego? Sorry to call so late.”

“No problem, Van, I was just on the way out,” he said. Of course, vigilantes never sleep. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” She asked, mouth dry. “I know tomorrow’s your day off but my violin needs some work and the shop’s all the way on the other side of town…”

\- - -

It was late when Lila finally came to him, very late. Diego couldn’t see the blue lights through his curtains, but he had been straining to hear the electric sound of time travel all evening, had been listening for it ever since he’d dropped Vanya off at her building that afternoon. His apartment was completely silent and still, so the noise from the rooftop sounded to him like a great clamoring.

Not wanting to seem over eager, he had kept the front door latched, even as he knew the lock would pose no problem for her. It felt like hours before he finally heard the click of the doorknob turning and the tell-tale squeak of the hinges opening. 

When she finally came to him, he could only make out the faintest shadows of her form in the grey crack of light before she slipped inside his room, enveloping them both in total darkness.

The bed dipped with her weight and he felt rather than saw her crawl towards him. Then it was just the feel of the heat of her hovering over him, the whispering of her breath in the space between them. He was acutely aware of every point they were touching; her wrist against his shoulder, her thumb brushing above his neck. With each breath, the coarse weave of her sweater softly brushed the bare skin of his chest.

Diego waited, arms by his sides, skin tingling with just the suggestion of her touch. She could kill him right now, he thought, wrap her hands around his throat and he might even thank her for it, if it only meant touching her.

“Lila.”

She moved quickly, pressing her fingers against his mouth, shushing him. His heart thudded as she dragged her thumb along his lower lip, smoothing her fingers up his jawline. Her first kiss was tentative, just the lightest press of her lips against his, but he leaned up, chasing the feel of her.

Her mouth was against his in earnest then, hands gripping his face. Diego was alive under her in an instant, hard and hungry for more, gripping her waist and dragging her down against him. She moved her knees, regaining her balance by straddling his thighs, and the jolt of her body sent a current down his spine, making him groan. 

Lila gasped into his mouth, the small sound stilted, half caught on the back of her tongue. Where before he was hungry he now turned ravenous. Twisting out from under her, he pushed her back into the pillows, burying his face into her throat and holding her there with the force of his want. She stiffened on impact, and he knew he should have let her lead, assured her with his movements that she could still run if she needed.

It took all his willpower to pull back, separating their bodies.

“I -”

And there was her hand again, pushing against his lips, stilling his voice. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling the weight of him back down onto her, her mouth lush and sweet.

Their first time together had been joyous, luxurious even. Safe within the thin walls of Elliot’s room, they removed clothes quickly and sank into each other slowly. Their movement were only restricted by the wound in Diego’s stomach, but they were creative, finding new positions to come together and fall apart. They had laughed and moaned and tumbled about the sheets, wrapped up in each other. It didn’t matter when they stopped because it only took a moment for them to start again. It didn’t matter that they were too loud, their moans echoing around the house, because what did they care who heard them?

Now they were quiet, as if the smallest sound would break them apart. The sheets rustled and their skin slid together, but their moans were closely guarded as a secret. But even without sight or sound, Diego knew how to read her, knew the push and pull of her body against his. Every shaky breath she couldn’t hide, every sharp inhale as he moved his fingers or his tongue against her was a victory. He knew Lila, knew the ways her muscles clenched and quivered, knew the sweet and salt of her, and he was determined to prove it. 

When they finally came together, she was loose and boneless in his arms and the heat of her was like a triumph. But in that moment, there was too much to say; the words fell away in his mind, too big and clunky for his mouth. 

And so Diego, rarely the wordsmith but always the man of action, said his piece with his palms against her ribcage, with his lips against her heart, connected to Lila in the most intimate way he could be. And when he was rewarded with something that was not quite a gasp, not quite a whimper but something akin to a great trembling, the sound of her led him towards his finish.

The room was dark and the air still but for their near-silent panting in the night. Diego was drifting off, the warmth and weight of Lila gathered against his chest comfortable and familiar, when he felt her stir.

He did not move as she untangled herself from his arms, continued to feign sleep as he heard her tip-toe around the room, dressing herself by feel alone. He knew this was the moment to ask her to stay, to turn on the lights and face her head on, but he was too comfortable in the afterglow of their coupling, could not find the urge to ruin this moment with their reality.

Lila paused only a moment before she left. Her whisper was like the rustle of leaves against a windowpane. 

“Thank your sister for me,” she said. “I had a nice day.”

And then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a former violinist, I can confidently say that pops concerts are always really, really good or really, really bad. There is no in between. Also, while I was never lucky enough to play Shania Twain with an orchestra, my choir did perform "Man! I Feel Like a Woman" one year and that experience singlehandedly ruined the song for me for the rest of my life.
> 
> Also, I can't believe I started a new, multi-chapter fic the week I came back from my first PTO of the year and during my busy season. Why do I do these things to myself?
> 
> Ch. 3 is like a little less than half written by the time of this posting, hope to have it to y'all soon!
> 
> As always, I appreciate y'all SO MUCH.


	3. Klaus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But maybe - and this is where Klaus’s excitement was starting to grow - maybe this wasn’t mirroring at all, maybe this was something bigger. A new person who also shared the Hargreeves’s unconventional birth date and entry into this world, who had the same stink of fate and destiny wrapped around them; a person with the same story. 
> 
> A fresh start, a new addition to replace what they - what _Klaus_ in particular - had lost.
> 
> Maybe Lila was supposed to find them when she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of suicide. Also, this one may get sad, so be prepared!

\- - -

It was quiet now, quiet in a way Klaus had never known before. 

Now that he could control his powers, he no longer encountered surprise strangers from the beyond, no longer heard their pitiful wails and the way they shrieked his name like a curse. And without the drugs, he grew less accustomed to the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, the swelling pitches of his blood pressure, the swirling cacophony of mania. And without Ben…

Well.

The thing was, Klaus was learning he didn’t really care for the quiet all that much.

He had always been something of a rambling man, always chittering and chattering as if he could keep his fears at bay with just the sound of his voice. He knew that people would stare at him, label him as “Crazy Man; Talks To Himself,” which was a tad insulting but not wholly unfounded criticism on their end. But it used to be a big joke because he used to be talking to someone. Someone who would talk back.

Someone who was now gone.

Anyways.

It wasn’t a habit Klaus saw himself dropping anytime soon; he was too much of an external processor to mull his thoughts over inside his own noggin - there just wasn’t enough space in there for all he had to offer. And now with too much dead space (ha) hovering just behind his shoulder, he found the sound of his own voice soothed him.

On the plus side though, he may have been alone for the first time in nearly twenty years, but he wasn’t _lonely_ , per se. Really, how could he be, living with two emotionally stunted man-children and one physically stunted little psychopath? Not to mention the near-constant barrage of his two sisters, Mother Hen and The Cottage Core Nuclear Bomb. 

Between the fighting and the needling, the lunches and the brunches, the enforced ‘family fun’ and the more organic sibling shenanigans, Klaus was now in a perpetual state of shared company, overburdened and buoyed by love. When one sibling left another was usually soon to take their place, attaching themselves to his hip and leading him through life like a boy scout helping an elderly grand dam cross the street.

Klaus wondered if his siblings had some secret pact in place to keep an eye on him, make sure he stayed on the straight-and-narrow. He wouldn’t blame them if they did.

It was an oddity to be sure, this little family of his. They made a strange sight at restaurants for family dinners, and he was positive the occasional droppers of eaves were always mildly confused if not highly entertained by what the Hargreeves siblings considered proper dinnertime chats. 

But from the outside looking in, all families must look this way, right? The rules were always invisible until broken, the rituals instinctual until they were forgotten, the language highly irregular but spoken with a set cadence. ‘Family’ was such a small word for something so big, so heartbreaking and messy and horrible and rotten and wonderful. 

No member of Destiny’s Children seemed to understand that. Everything with his Children had been copacetic, easy-living, light and free as a balloon without a string. They all talked like him and thought like him, fuck they were even _dressed_ like him. But they didn’t really _get_ him, didn’t truly speak his language, and for all their love and affection that missing piece made them suffocating. He floated above them, away from them, and for all their praise and easy love, he hadn’t missed them at all.

His siblings, Klaus reasoned, may not recognize the language he spoke, but at least they understood his story. They were his string. He used to think that meant a noose, but he could compromise, call them his leash to reality and float without fear of getting lost.

He explained his theory to Vanya, who listened in rapt silence as they walked back to their neighborhood following one of her many evening rehearsals.

“Every boat needs an anchor, you know?” Klaus said, lighting a cigarette and carefully blowing the smoke away from her face. “Every big fucking balloon arch needs a weight. Every manic pixie dream girl needs her Jim Carrey.”

“I guess it’s kind of like a keystone, isn’t it?” She asked.

“And for us high school drop-outs that is…?”

“Okay, if your balloon arch was made of stone, that one in the very middle, that one’s the keystone,” Vanya explained. “It’s got something to do with pressure pushing out and also pushing down, but without it the whole arch collapses.”

“That seems decidedly _not_ like my Kate Winslet metaphor,” Klaus huffed.

“No, it’s better,” Vanya insisted.

“How could anything possibly be better than Kate Winslet with a bad red dye job?” Klaus asked, rolling his eyes fondly. He liked his baby sister with a bit of bite, made things more interesting. 

“Well, what you’re describing - while very good and useful - is all about weighing people down,” Vanya reasoned. “I’m saying that maybe the weight holds people up.”

“Ships still sail without an anchor,” Klaus pointed out. “My arch collapses without your little keystone.”

“I know,” Vanya said after a moment, mulling this over. “But you can always rebuild something that falls down. Hard to repair a ship that’s crashed and burned.”

The metaphors were getting too pointed for Klaus’s taste, so he let the subject drop. 

Ben had been the smart one. Ben would’ve had a good comeback. 

But Ben wasn’t here.

\- - -

It seemed that for once, the Hargreeves were in store for a holly jolly Christmas, and their first present came during the first week of December; Allison had been awarded joint custody of Claire. It only took a few derisive opinion columns from journalists sympathetic to Allison’s case for Patrick to bow to public opinion and allow Claire to spend the holiday season with her mom.

They all were still working through piles of leftover stuffing in their fridge from Thanksgiving when overnight, Allison’s _tres chic_ penthouse transformed into an Old Saint Nick-nightmare.

“I paid extra for the next-day delivery, but I think it was worth it,” Allison said, nearly tripping over a half-unboxed container of ornaments when Diego and Klaus arrived one morning after she had called in a panic. “There’s just so much to do and so little time! I was thinking we could go find a tree today? A big one we could put right by the window, and smaller ones for every room.”

“Allison, Christmas is almost a whole month away,” Diego said. “I need you to breathe.”

He put his hands on her shoulders as he guided her around the explosion of decorations scattered around the floor towards the couch, speaking in an even, low tone. It was a tactic he used on Klaus many times, one that Ben had once called the ‘Mollification of Moron Mania,’ only for Klaus to politely let him knowing alliteration didn’t make him any smarter or less dead. 

_“Eat shit.”_

_“Drop dead.”_

“Klaus?” Diego’s voice brought him back to the present. “Why don’t you go and get Allison a glass of water?”

“Do you one better,” Klaus said, sauntering to the kitchen. “Who wants mimosas?”

“No!” Diego yelled back at the same time Allison called, “Champagne’s in the wine fridge!”

It took two mimosas to get Allison to sit down, a third to get her to trust her brothers to safely unpack and sort the boxes without breaking anything, and a fourth to finally start relaxing. Klaus, of course, was matching her drink for drink and Diego, never one to back down from a challenge, was keeping pace. By the time Luther arrived with Five in tow, the three of them had already gone through four bottles of champagne.

Thankfully, the boys had brought tequila.

“Did you guys do anything in here besides day drink?” Vanya later asked when she arrived with the requested reinforcements - thai takeout and a handle of vodka.

“Ooh! Vanya look, we have a _grand_ plan!” Allison giggled. “Come look at what we drew!”

She jumped from the couch and threw her arms around her sister, shoving a drawing in her face. The drawing had started as a map of the apartment, trying to plan out where all the decorations would go and how. They had each taken a turn at adding details. But, as the saying goes, too many cooks and all. The map now looked like a more abstract _Der Schrei der Natur_. 

“Look, look, look!” She squealed, pointing out different scribbles on the page. “We’re gonna get, Vanya, we’re going to get the _biggest tree in the city_ , like, the _whole city_ and put it _outside_ the window! Look, Klaus and Luther came up with this pulley system, do you see here? We’re going to use the ribbons to do that so we don’t have to use the elevator anymore, we can just come up and down the tree! Then we’re going to have another tree _inside_ the window - well not in the glass but here in my living room - and, Vanya, it’s going to be _pink_ and it’s going to smell like _candy canes_!”

“Wait, wait, hold on let me get a good look at this,” Vanya said, struggling to extricate the drawing from Allison. “And what are you wearing?”

Allison was festooned in a crown of purple tinsel and green pipe cleaners - horribly tangled in her blonde curls - and a white, faux fur blanket draped across her shoulders. She spun around, showing off her look.

“You like?” She asked. “I’m the Queen of Christmas, this is my queenly attire!

“You look more like Bacchus than any queen I know,” Five said.

“Nah, she’s got more of a Queen Mab thing going for her,” Klaus said. “And after all, she’s the true patron saint of Christmas.”

“I thought she was some sort of fairy?” Diego asked, confused.

“She was,” Allison said. She stumbled a little as she stopped spinning. Her eyes were suddenly very fond and a little misty, staring just above Vanya’s head. 

“‘ She is the fairies' midwife,’” Allison recited in a sing-song voice. “‘And she comes in shape no bigger than an agate-stone on the fore-finger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomies athwart men's noses as they lie asleep…’” 

She broke off, looking very sad.

Vanya, sensing the sudden change, grabbed Allison’s hand and led her back to the couch while Diego hastily changed the subject. Klaus poured her another drink and she gave him a small, watery smile, an understanding passing between them.

Were they now all of them haunted? 

Klaus looked at his siblings through the smoky and comforting haze of alcohol, and wondered what would happen if he used his powers here, just a little. Would Raymond Chestnut be floating just behind Allison’s left shoulder? What about Vanya, who would he see - a broken and battered Leonard? A scared Harlan and a defiant Sissy? Diego’s ghosts were far too easy to name; it might even be funny if they weren’t so tragic. A dead robot mom, a dead ex-lover, murdered in her heroic attempt to save Klaus.

(In the shameful, guilty parts of his heart, Klaus wondered if Eudora might not be haunting him a little too.)

Luther might think himself haunted by the spirit of their father, but Klas imagined instead a younger boy behind him, golden haired and blue eyed and whole, hopeful and defiant. Luther as a teenager, with nothing but the promise of purposeful living ahead, filled with some naïve belief in right and wrong and the assurance of his own invincibility. 

As for Five, well, it really was such a shame that his demons were so intrinsically tied to his own happiness. Oh, the little shit might tried to hide it, but a strange and wild look appeared in his eyes every so often when he looked upon to his siblings, some terrible surprise tinged with grief. 

_What a horrible thing_ , Klaus thought, _to know the mask of death on a person before ever knowing their face in life._

And how unfair it all was, for all of them to be so haunted when he himself was so recently spook-free. He would give anything for that otherworldly watchfulness again, anything to see the specter of Ben; to hear him snark to be able to respond, to have a moment to say goodbye…

“Wait,” Vanya was sitting to Klaus’s right and she jostled him, pointing to a spot on the drawing and breaking him from his reverie. “What are all these squiggles next to this pink blob?”

“Well anatomically speaking we refer to those as the p- ”

“Don’t be gross, Klaus,” Luther interjected.

“Those,” Allison said loudly, popping open her plastic container of pad thai. “Are us! See, all six of us? That little purple one’s Claire! And that’s the pink tree, doesn’t it look so pretty?”

“We are the primordial pubes of Christmas, Vanya,” Klaus offered with a laugh. “Hey I know, we should send out a holiday card this year, you know? Like normal families do but we could make them fun, right? I imagine us all wearing just these really, _really_ tight-fitting spandex onesies- ”

“Okay, I think if we’re talking spandex onesies you all need to eat,” Vanya laughed, grabbing the container of thai larb gai and shoving it into his hands. “And I need to catch-up. Any tequila left before we break into the vodka?”

“Oh yes,” Five said, handing her a cup from where he sat criss-crossed onto of a decorative poof on the floor. “This is Luther’s famous tequila sour, sans sour mix.”

“So, just tequila?”

“With a hint of lemon,” Luther added, defensively.

Vanya shrugged and downed her drink in one go, grimaced, then held out her empty cup for seconds.

And if it weren’t for the very obvious hole in their little circle where Ben should’ve been, Klaus reasoned that as far as starts to holiday seasons went, this one wasn’t too bad.

\- - -

Even with Allison’s newfound enthusiasm and holiday cheer, Klaus still hated Christmas. Hated Hanukkah and Kwanzaa too, all things considered. Hated the whole goddamned winter holiday collection - the entire year from Thanksgiving to March could truly be skipped and he wouldn’t have minded a single bit. New Years Eve could go fuck itself for all he cared.

But, with Claire en route with Patrick’s _au pair_ in just a few days time and the entire living Hargreeves gang reunited, Klaus was doing his best to just coast and enjoy the ride. It would just be easier if they were gearing up to celebrate Halloween instead, or even arbor day. He could party with some trees.

Beyond the normal ho-hum depression that stank up the atmosphere like overripe fruit, Klaus knew from experience that this time of year usually came with an upsurge of paranormal activity. Ghosts liked Christmas, liked the warmth and the sparkling lights, the cold and the false humor. They were drawn to it like sharks to blood. 

Once, his roommate at a rehab facility - had it been the third or fourth one? - insisted to Klaus that _A Christmas Carol_ was the original ghost story.

“And you know why they invented Christmas, don’t you Klaus?”

‘They’ being the ghosts. Poor sod’s name was Cameron and he thought spirits from beyond were possessing him, controlling the world. Once he learned that Klaus’s nickname was the Seance he had insisted they room together.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know Cameron, please enlighten me,” Klaus had said.

Cameron had smiled and drew his finger across his throat. “To get rid of the weak ones.”

It was the night before Christmas and Cameron was dead, murdered by his own addled psychosis. It was so fucked, so unbelievably tragic that Klaus had wanted to curl up in the vacant bed and weep. But the drugs they had put him on mellowed him out so much he couldn’t even shed a single tear.

Ben had cried though. Or at least, mimicked the act of crying. The rules still didn’t make sense to him even to this day - could ghosts cry?

“That’s a new one,” said a voice. “Never thought about it before. You ever tried to ask them?”

Klaus blinked. The rehab facility melted away. He smelled plastic and sugar, wooly body sweat and linoleum. Another blink. Klaus was surrounded by toys, bathed in too-bright light, the tinny sounds of Christmas music syncopation rushing back in along with the shrieks and laughs of children.

He’d been trying to find a gift for Claire when he let his mind wander, a dangerous pastime for the sanest of god’s creatures. He had insisted to Vanya and Allison he could run this one, simple errand on his own, but the present shopping extravaganza was starting to shred his nerves; none of the Hargreeves had ever owned much in the way of toys - Sir Reginald couldn’t be bothered with the concept of play where his children were involved - and given that he didn’t even know Claire from Adam, he found himself truly out of his element. It wasn’t a good place to be, especially with hoards of tiny, screaming psychopaths running past his elbows every other minute.

“Because the way I look at it,” the voice continued. “If they can’t actually, you know, tear up and stuff then it doesn’t really count.”

“Sorry,” Klaus turned to the voice. “Was I talking to you?”

“You didn’t seem to be talking to anyone.” 

The voice belonged to a girl, a pretty one, with big, dark eyes and angular features. She was unassuming in a practiced way, taking up just the right amount of space to be unobtrusive; short but not tiny, thin but not flat, dressed in all black with a timeless blunt haircut. She was too cool to be found in a toy store like this, too calm and collected to be familiar with child rearing and handling. 

She also looked strangely familiar. 

“I do that,” Klaus said, walking away. “Sorry to disturb.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” said the woman, following him. “Why were you asking if ghosts could cry?”

“Why?” Klaus picked purple elephant with a dopey, smiling face that professed to sing the alphabet in three languages. “Sometimes I like to say as many as six impossible things before breakfast. Is this more of an iris purple to you or lavender?”

“‘One can’t believe impossible things,’” the girl quoted to him, catching on quickly. “Although I daresay you’ve had some practice. Looks more lilac to me.”

Klaus had forgotten what it was like to have someone answer back to his ramblings. It surprised him how much he had missed it, wondered if the woman was a ghost sent to keep him company during this particularly anxiety-provoking excursion. Or maybe she too was just a lonely chatterbox.

“I hate lilac,” Klaus said, dropping the elephant back on the shelf and drifting to the far end of the aisle, picking up a circus-themed jack-in-the-box. He was trying to figure out how quickly Allison would murder him if he bought her daughter such an obnoxious noisemaker when it suddenly clicked. 

Lilac. 

Lila.

Well, wasn’t this interesting?

She had followed him down the aisle at a respectable distance, making a good attempt at seeming interested in a set of stuffed piglets who could teach you to count to ten, but Klaus could feel her watching him from his periphery. Now her cool aloofness seemed overdone and pained, now he could feel her unease ricocheting off him like hail on a windshield.

Klaus knew very little about Diego’s latest flame, only that whatever was between them had seemingly guttered out in that barn back in Dallas. Since they’d all returned, he had been annoyingly mum on the whole subject, which was very un-Diego like. On some level, he knew his brother would open up when he was ready but…

Well, here she was, wasn’t she? And anyways, curiosity and cats and all.

“I have an idea,” Klaus said, turning to Lila and clapping his hands together, making her jump. “You seem like a smart lady of taste and have an air of youthful exuberance about you. I am failing miserably at shopping for a wee lass I do not know. What say you to helping me find the perfect toy in exchange for some deliciously saccharine, over-priced cappuccino? My treat.”

If he hadn’t been looking for it, Klaus would’ve missed the surprise that washed over Lila’s face, the way her body locked as if preparing for impact. But she hesitated only a moment before agreeing.

Big box stores like this always gave Klaus the heebie-jeebies; too much noise, too much color, unnaturally bright lights. But after overcoming her initial shock, Lila seemed quite at ease with all the extra stimuli and so he was perfectly comfortable following her lead as they scouted the aisles for the right gift.

“So how come you don’t know your own niece?” Lila asked, examining porcelain dolls arranged under show lights. They were dressed in intricate costumes with doe-eyed, vacant expressions and seemed to be designed for show rather than play. “Did her mum think you’d be a bad influence?”

“I think mommy-dearest thought we’d all be bad influences,” Klaus mused. “I think she’s a bit too young for those, they look like they’re marketed for a specifically perverse kind of collector. Maybe something with a little more durability?”

“You worried about meeting her?” Lila asked, moving on to the next row of shelves.

“You know what? I really am,” Klaus laughed, surprised at his own honesty.

Lila ducked down and emerged seconds later holding up two Barbies; one outfitted as a veterinarian and the other as a horseback rider. Both were shiny, blonde and manic in that certain way Klaus had only ever achieved through snorting lots and lots of coke.

“What about one of these?” She asked. “Look, they even let her have a proper profession nowadays.”

“I don’t know…I worry about giving her unrealistic body expectations,” Klaus said, pulling at his the hairs on his chin fretfully. “Plus she’s bound to have millions of them back home. What if I get her one she already has?”

“Hang the dolls then,” Lila said, opening her hands and letting the two plastic boxes fall to the floor with a _THWACK_. “You really are putting a lot of thought into this, huh?”

“I just want her to like me,” Klaus said, letting himself be led down the next aisle. “I’m competing with three other uncles and I want to stand out. What did you like best about your uncle?”

Lila was quiet. Under the fluorescent lights of the shop, Klaus could see the way her eyes darted as she tried to formulate a lie, the effort clear across her face.

“Never had one,” she said finally, which sounded genuine enough. “What about a board game, is that too boring?” She held up a box for his inspection. 

“Yeah, me either,” Klaus said. “And no, no to _Monopoly_ , I do not want to trick her into thinking capitalism is _cool_.”

He groaned and slumped to the next aisle, certain by now that Lila would follow without his prompting.

“It’s just, I already know how this is going to play out,” He lamented. “Luther’s going to be the favorite, obviously, and she’ll have him wrapped around her eensy-teensy pinkie; he’ll let her get away with murder and she’ll love him for it. Diego’s going to be the fun-but-irresponsible one, probably buy her her first beer in high school and take her out driving before she’s even tall enough to see over the steering wheel. Five is going to put on this big show of not caring for her at all, but you know how kids are, she’s going to be obsessed with winning him over, which she will if she’s anything like her mom…”

They reached a floor display of stuffed animals, all ranging in size from hand-held to gargantuan. Klaus threw himself despairingly across the back of a nearly-life-sized lemon yellow llama. “And that’s not to mention Auntie Vanny, who surprisingly great with kids and has the upper hand since she’s already met her once. Face it, there’s no place for in this lineup except for Uncle-Who-Buys-Expensive-Gifts, but that’s not at all sustainable.”

“So let me get this straight,” Lila said, plopping down on a periwinkle blue llama to his left. She ticked off on her fingers. “Uncle Pushover, Uncle Danger, Mean Uncle with a Heart of Gold, and Cool Aunt. Seems like there’s lots of space for you. Why not Uncle Streetwise?”

“No, Uncle Danger has that one covered.”

“The Fashionable Uncle?”

“I mean, obviously, but truthfully her mom’s got that one covered.”

“Funny Uncle?”

“But that’s so _cliché,”_ he whined. “And you can’t build a relationship off of observational humor and nonsensical quips with a _six-year-old_.”

“You could be Uncle Smarty-Pants,” Lila said, drily. “Seems like a good combination of the three and plays to your natural strengths. Go on, speak only in 80’s movie references and fight with her about politics! You could buy her books above her reading level and tease her when she doesn’t know the definition of ‘antidisestablishmentarianism.’”

Klaus, who had been feeling so lighthearted and at ease, now felt a sinking sensation in his gut. How easy it was to forget, how quickly he adjusted to absence, only to inadvertently stumble across an invocation of his brother’s memory. And, like every wound prodded too early, the deep cut in his heart felt like it was mending badly, scarring instead of healing.

“No. That would’ve been my brother, Ben. But he’s dead. So now little Claire won’t have an Uncle Smarty-Pants,” he explained, smiling sadly. “He really wanted to meet her too, talked about it a lot. It’s a shame.”

“I’m sorry,” Lila said. Her brow furrowed and she scuffed her shoes against the floor. “When did he die?”

“That’s actually a bit complicated,” Klaus said. “Somewhere between eighteen years and eight months ago, depending on who you ask.”

She nodded as if his cryptic reply made any sort of sense. “I guess it doesn’t matter…eighteen years or eight months, who cares,” she said, voice bitter. “Still hurts just the same, even when you think it shouldn’t. Even when you’re _so angry at them_ you could kill them yourself…them dying doesn’t make moving on any easier.”

But Klaus wasn’t listening. His mind was suddenly working in overtime. “Oh my god,” he said, staring at Lila. He scrambled upright and reached out to grab her. 

“What is it?” she asked, drawing back from his outstretched arms, perturbed by his sudden shift in attitude.

Only now the whole picture was coming to him and he wondered why it had taken him this long to piece it all together. From the moment she had attached herself to him, Lila hadn’t questioned his incessant talking once, hadn’t complained about his confused ramblings either, just accepted them and bounced off of them onto the next diatribe. And in Dallas, Lila had shown her terrible propensity for mirroring their powers. Was it possible she could be so equally adept at mirroring his language too? 

But maybe - and this is where Klaus’s excitement was starting to grow - maybe this wasn’t mirroring at all, maybe this was something bigger. A new person who also shared the Hargreeves’s unconventional birth date and entry into this world, who had the same stink of fate and destiny wrapped around them; a person with the same story. 

A fresh start, a new addition to replace what they - what _Klaus_ in particular - had lost.

Maybe Lila was supposed to find them when she did. 

“It’s _you_ ,” Klaus breathed, then started to laugh. “It’s _you_ , don’t you see? _You’re_ the answer!”

“What?”

“Yes! Don’t you see?” His thoughts were spiraling too fast for him to hold them together and they spilled from him like water. “Listen, Ben died when we were teenagers but he wasn’t _really_ _dead_ , not to me anyways, I had him with me for _years_ and _years_! And the week he leaves for the great beyond _you_ appear with these, these incredible _powers_ , powers like ours! You’re one of us- ”

“Stop- ” 

“You're one of us, but you already know that! But Lila, what if you were _meant_ to find us?”

“Stop it.”

“Yes, it makes perfect sense - what if there’s always _meant_ to be seven of us? With Ben gone that’s you - _you’re_ our new Number Six!”

“ _Stop it!”_

It was the happiest Klaus had felt since returning to Dallas. Yes, that’s what had been missing - they had been an incomplete fraction without Ben, Fleetwood Mac without a tambourine, a food pyramid with no veg option, and Lila was the answer. 

So he didn’t understand why she had jumped up, putting the stupid blue llama between them, looking panicked and wild with fear; her face ashen, eyes wide and wet, her mouth curled in a snarl.

Klaus’s joy drained as quickly as it had appeared, face falling in disbelief. “Don’t you want to be with us?” He asked. “We could be a whole family Lila, we really could. We could be the Umbrella Academy again but better, different. You’ll see, I promise.”

“This was a mistake.” Lila was backing away from him now, shaking her head, hands in front of her as if to ward off an attack.

“Wait- ”

“No, this was a mistake. I have to go.”

“Wait, Lila-!”

But she turned and ran, weaving in and out of customers and their offspring alike, who stared between her retreating figure and Klaus, still astride his yellow llama, all alone in the monstrous pile of stuffed animals. 

Her sudden disappearance hit him with the force of a tornado, reminding him too much of the moment he awoke on the floor of that FBI building to find Ben gone, of the quietness that now existed in his periphery for the first time in years. Of the loneliness he felt yawning under him like a black hole. 

He bought Claire the stupid yellow llama. Allison would kill him - there was no way she could fit it on the plane back to Los Angeles - but what did he care? He just wanted to be out of this godforsaken toy store, away from all these yuppy fucking parents who had never attended a child’s funeral before, who had never looked into the dead eyes of a teenager and realized what a sham their whole world was compared to that darkness that stretched on forever.

He wanted to leave and be back home with his siblings, with his family, what was left of it anyways. There would never be a full family gathering ever - they never had the chance and now they never would, not like the way he wanted, not since Dallas, not without his brother. He wanted to go back, he wanted to do it over again, he wanted to be better, he wanted, he wanted, he wanted…

He just wanted Ben.

\- - - 

Diego liked being a boxing instructor. He liked getting paid to do what he was good at everyday, liked not having to wear anything more formal than his sweats and a tank top, liked being able to set his own schedule.

What he _didn’t_ like was being contractually obligated to accommodate the whims of his baby boxers, because that meant when one suddenly couldn’t come for her noon appointment but cancelled within the requisite timeframe, he ended up having to stay later than normal to provide a make-up class.

It was well into the evening when he returned home, and he knew he would have to miss the last game night Allison hosted before Claire’s arrival. He had already phoned to apologize but wasn’t exactly unhappy about having a quiet apartment to himself for the evening so he could unwind after such a long day.

So he was more than a little surprised to open the door and find Klaus sitting on the couch, waiting.

“I thought you were supposed to be at Allison’s?” Diego asked, kicking off his shoes and dropping his gym bag next to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going to be soon; called a cab, they should be here any moment, want to carpool?” Klaus asked in one breath.

“Nah man, I think I’m just going to chill here tonight,” Diego said. 

“Cool, cool.” 

Klaus had jumped from the couch and was hovering anxiously around Diego as he got himself a glass of water from the kitchen sink, his eyes the size of marbles and his goatee unkept from his constant picking.

“Okay man, what is going on?” Diego asked, setting his glass down. “You’re driving me nuts- ”

“Lila,” Klaus blurted. “She was here, today - well not _here_ here, but I was out and she found me and we talked- ”

“Talked?” Something fissured in Diego’s chest, and it was an effort to keep his tone even. “What did you talk about?”

“Well that’s the thing Diego, I think I made her angry and- ”

“What did you say to her?”

“Nothing!” Klaus exclaimed. “Nothing! Well, not nothing, we talked for a long time actually and she was very helpful in picking out a toy for Claire, albeit one I think Allison’s going to kill me over. We just talked about toys mostly…and uncles and then I told her about Ben and…and…”

“And what, Klaus?”

“I…I may have told her that it was destiny that she find us right when Ben decided to move on and I think I offered her the role of Number Six in the Umbrella Academy?” Klaus tried to plaster on a smile. “And that was it, I swear. But I don’t think she was super keen on the idea and she kind of ran away and now I don’t know where she is…”

Diego pressed his hands into the edges of the counter, feeling the sharpness bite into his palms, trying to ground himself. He hung his head as his focus narrowed to the space of formica between his hands.

“Do you ever,” he began slowly. “ _Ever_ have a thought you were capable of keeping to yourself? Hm? Are you even remotely aware of the things you say?”

“No, not really,” Klaus said hastily. “But I don’t think- ”

“And that’s the problem!” Diego snapped. “You don’t think! Ever! And now you, you what, you scared Lila away? She’s gone and who knows when she’ll ever be back? Great, fucking great, Klaus! Thanks as always for the massive help, bro.”

“You never talk about her!” Klaus argued. “I don’t know anything about her! How was I supposed to know she’d scare off so easily?”

“Of course I don’t talk about her, because you wouldn’t understand!” Diego yelled. “Because you would try to make things better and just end up screwing it all to pieces like you always do!”

“Diego, c’mon, that’s not fair,” Klaus said. He looked utterly crestfallen and small.

Diego took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then another. And another. His focus widened, his hands unclenched painfully.

“No, that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry,” Diego said softly. “I’m sorry, Klaus. It’s just- ” 

The phone rang, it’s sharp trills cutting between them. They let it ring out, neither of them making a move to answer it.

“That’ll be your cab,” Diego said. “You better go.”

“Diego, wait,” Klaus said, reaching for him. “Please, let’s talk about this.”

“I need to cool off,” Diego said, shrugging off Klaus’s hands. “And you need to go.”

“Diego- ”

But he walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He didn’t even bother turning on the lights until he heard Klaus leave, just stood in the enclosed darkness, head tipped back against the wood, trying to quell the anxious, heart-wrenching feeling in his chest that he’d begun to associate with Lila’s name.

\- - -

A hot shower did very little to clear Diego’s mind, but it did help ease the tensions in his shoulders following his fight with Klaus. He was half dressed, the bathroom door open to allow the cool air in, when he heard the doorknob from the front rattle before stilling and opening with a _click_.

He felt her as soon as she entered his space, even if the mirror above the sink was too clouded with steam to see her form. She approached slowly, testing the space between them with light feet, careful to make as little noise as possible.

He felt her shaky exhale against the damp skin of his shoulder blades before her arms snaked around his waist and chest. She squeezed him tightly, and he felt a tremor pass from her body to his. He sighed as she pressed her forehead to his spine.

“Hey,” Lila whispered into his back.

“Hey.”

They stood there, breathing in sync, enjoying the simple pleasure of holding and being held. 

After a heartbeat or two, Diego untangled her arms, turned, and kissed her softly. Lila pressed her hands against his chest; not pulling him forward nor pushing him back, simply keeping him where he stood.

But it was only a moment before she pulled away and backed slowly out of the room, her eyes downcast. He heard her pick something up walk down the hall and a door - presumably the one to his bedroom - opened. Diego, helpless to do anything else, followed, shutting the door behind him.

Inside, Lila had already begun making herself at home, opening drawers, rifling through his closet, examining his sparse odds and ends that lay haphazardly wherever he had discarded them. The suitcase, he noticed, lay innocently next to the door. He made no move for it nor to stop her examinations but sat on his bed, observing.

It struck Diego how much she looked like the Lila he had met at the asylum. Of course, they were the same person, but the Lila he had come to know in those last days in Dallas had been a chameleon, blending herself into her surroundings. Always outspoken and brash, but shiny as a trick coin and just as misleading. Lila at the asylum had been a slightly different creature - taking up more space than she needed, chewing her meals loudly, refusing to modulate her voice. All an act, meant to disarm and conceal her true purpose.

Knowing the signs of her act now, he wasn’t distracted by her practiced unbothered pretension, though it rolled off her in waves. He saw straight through her, and her attempt to seem comfortable and controlled betrayed her anxiety and agitation. But just because he recognized it didn’t mean he had a clue of what to do with it.

“You have a lot books here,” Lila observed, fingers trailing along their spines. “Have you read them all?”

“Most of them,” Diego said. 

“You didn’t read much in the asylum.”

“I was more focused on breaking out than broadening my horizons.”

Lila “hmm’ed” and continued to move across his room, dragging her fingers along the walls. “This the needlepoint you told me about?” She asked, tapping the glass frame where it hung. “The one your mum made?”

“Yeah,” he said, and then because his ears were ringing with all that was unspoken between them, “what are you doing here Lila?”

She didn’t answer, didn’t make eye contact, but continued to circle his room, looking through everything and for nothing in particular. Her movements were fidgety.

He tried another tactic. “Are you just back for another quick lay?”

“You didn’t seem to mind it too much last time,” Lila said. “I didn’t hear any complaints.”

“That’s because you left before I could say them.”

“It’s not my fault boys always fall asleep after sex,” Lila said, shrugging. “Why is that, anyways?”

“Lots of exercise and it’s usually past our bedtime,” Diego deadpanned.

Lila quirked a smile at him before quickly turning away again. 

“Your brother,” she said finally. “Is he okay?”

“I’ve got three, you’re going to have to be a little more specific,” Diego said.

“The loony one. Skinny guy, brown hair, nice clothes,” she paused and leaned against his dresser, facing him but refusing still to meet his gaze, picking instead at an invisible thread on her sleeve. “Talks to himself.”

“Klaus.”

“Sure.”

“Why do you ask?”

Lila ducked her head, staring at the floor.“No reason.”

“No reason?” Diego asked, exasperated. “C’mon Lila, that’s bullshit and you know it. What are you doing here? You stalk my sister around the city for a full day, you go toy shopping for my niece with my brother, you come here but won’t talk….you won’t even look at me, don’t seem to want to have anything to do with me, but you keep coming back. What’s your endgame here?”

She scoffed, visibly bristling, lifting her head and finally meeting his gaze like a challenge. 

“Well that’s nice, isn’t it?” Lila fumed. “Here I am trying to get to know the people you told me could be _my family_ and you’re, what? You think I’m stalking them?”

“Is that what you’re doing, Lila?” Diego asked. “Trying to get to know my family? Is that your angle? Because if you're serious we could leave right now and go to Allison’s game night. We could be there in twenty minutes, just say the word.”

She gaped at him for a moment before crossing her arms and turning her face away from him.

“Yeah,” Diego said as the silence between them stretched on. “I didn’t think so.”

“You’re angry with me,” Lila said. It wasn’t a question.

“You left.”

“Which time?”

“Exactly.”

“Well I’m angry too,” she huffed. “Not that that seems to matter to anyone.”

“What happened, Lila?” Diego asked again. “What did Klaus say that has you so upset?”

She didn’t answer, the line of her closed mouth tight, arms stubbornly crossed. They could go in circles like this all night butshe wouldn’t talk unless she wanted to - Lila never did a thing unless she wanted to. Even the thought of how much effort he would have to put in to get her open up a little was exhausting. 

Diego dropped his head into his hands, feeling defeated by the prospect. “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, Lila,” he groaned. “I can’t _do_ anything if you won’t _say_ anything.”

She pushed away from the dresser, approaching him slowly until their knees were touching, the top of his head resting against her stomach. He stared intently at the scuffed, red leather of her boots as she tentatively reached out and brushed her fingers down the back of his neck.

“I like your hair short like this,” she whispered. “Easier to see your face.”

He rested his hands lightly against her hips, but at the contact she tensed and made to move away from his touch. 

“Stay,” he said, tightening his grip. It was halfway between a plea and a demand.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Diego…”

His head snapped back and he stood suddenly, pulling her flush against him. “Why not?” he repeated. 

Lila searched his face, her mouth open as she seemed to battle with herself for the right thing to say. In the end, she did not answer but looped her arms around his shoulders, leaning up on her tip-toes to kiss him. 

“I’m sorry, Diego,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m sorry.”

But his confusion and his anger broke open in him like a dam, flooding his senses and his reasoning. His mouth was hard against hers, crushing. He walked her backwards until he had her pressed into the wall, one hand sliding up her waist, the other flat on the space next to her head. 

Lila gasped, curling against him, hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, the side of his neck, his back. Her kisses were just as fierce but they felt like apologies, tasted of regret and remorse. 

He didn’t want her fucking sorrow, didn’t want her pity. 

“Stay,” he said again, lips ghosting down the column her throat. 

He felt her swallow, heard her rasp. “No.”

Diego pressed the flat of his palm against her then, hardening at the sound of her whimper, at the feel of her pushing back against his hand. 

“Please,” she murmured, mouthing at his jawline. “Please.”

His own physical desires seemed distant to him, even as he felt his own want pulsing through his veins, electric and alive. There was only Lila now; the feel of her, the taste of her moans as he touched her. Here she was hot and heavy in his arms, but only for this moment - even the coiling of her muscles around his fingers seemed poised for more than just relief, reminding him that even in this state she remained ready to flee in an instant.

With every twist of his fingers, every move of his mouth against hers, Diego argued his case for her to stay. He was so achingly hard but wouldn’t have her, _couldn’t_ have her they way he wanted if it meant her leaving. He was willing to prolong his own need from here to eternity if only to draw out her presence in his room. 

Lila’s every responding move against him, in turn, was like one half of a conversation, her anger evident in the undulations of her hips, sadness just as strong with the slide of her tongue. But for their back-and-forth, they were mismatched; her push meeting his feint, his pull missing her sidestep. There was too much frustration, too much need growing between them, and it silenced all understanding.

Lila came apart too quickly in the end, his name a trembling moan on her lips. She clenched her shaking hands against his forearms, trying to keep herself together, and he held her steady through it. And as her shaking subsided, she loosened her grip slowly, winding her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest with a sigh. 

When she made no move to pull away, no move to leave, Diego felt a momentary flutter of hope in his chest.

“Diego," she began. "I…”

But whatever she was about to say was cutoff by the sound of the front door of the apartment opening with a _BANG_ and the shouts of his brothers following. Game night must’ve ended early for there were three distinct voices now coming from down the hall.

Instantly, Lila twisted out from his arms and dashed for the suitcase.

“No, wait, Lila don’t—!”

But his voice was lost in the crackling, blue cloud of energy. One moment Lila stood before him, and the next she was gone.

The whiplash of the moment made him dizzy. Diego sat down hard on his bed, dumbfounded and still reeling from the feel of Lila’s arms around him, the echo of her voice still reverberating in his room. 

Then there was a shuffling just outside his door followed by a soft knock.

“Diego?” It was Klaus. “Are you cooled off yet? Can we talk?”

“Now’s not a good time,” Diego grit out.

“But- ”

“Not _now_ Klaus!” He shouted, grabbing a book on his nightstand and throwing it with all his might at the door.

He heard Klaus yelp at the almighty _SMACK_ and then there were other voices, lower pitched and concerned. Whatever conversation ensued in the hallway, Diego could not hear it but was fairly certain of what was being said.

In the end, no one else came to bother him the rest of the evening. 

It was quiet now, all the normal sounds and mumblings of the household muted out of respect for his anger. And even as it simmered and boiled in his stomach, Diego couldn’t help but recognize how much he had grown to hate the quiet, hate the absence of voices and presence of people around him. 

Before Dallas - before apocalypses and asylums and siblings and lovers - the silence of his single room at the back of the gym used to be a relief, a golden pinnacle of solitude achieved after long years living in a noisy, unforgiving household. Now it only reminded him of who was supposed to be there; the people he had pushed away, the missing and the lost.

He wasn’t a lone wolf, probably never had been. Just a wolf bereft of his pack, and he felt that loneliness now with an ugly, keening sharpness.

As destructive as it was, his anger was all he’d ever had to keep that loneliness at bay. And his anger - at Klaus, at Lila, but most of all at himself - kept him company for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> - _Der Schrei der Natur_ , otherwise known as _The Scream_ by Edvard Munch. Klaus has a habit of interjecting German into his dialogue so I felt it more fitting he call the painting but its original, German name.
> 
> -The Queen Mab quotes come from Mercutio's monologue in act I scene IV of _Romeo and Juliet_. As Ray was a Shakespeare professor and Allison a trained actress, I like to imagine them lounging on the couch after dinner reading plays back and forth, acting out their favorite bits.
> 
> - _“There is no use trying,” said Alice. "One can’t believe impossible things.”_
> 
>  _“I dare say you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”_ Alice Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll
> 
> -There is actually quite a rich history of ghost stories combining Christmastime. Shorter, colder days, pagan rituals, high religiosity, it's the perfect recipe for the ooky-spooky. 
> 
> -Auntie Vanny’s has already met Claire, what?? Well, in Ch.1 she did travel with Allison back to Los Angeles, maybe there’s a scene coming up in a future chapter? Maybe? Who knows?


	4. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five laughed then, full in her face. It was a mistake, but he couldn’t help it. 
> 
> “You are a child,” he said. “You don’t even know what it is that you want. You’d rather just lash out - teeth, temper and all - than face your own grief.”
> 
> “Teeth, temper and all,” Lila repeated darkly. “Well, you little kinder shit, takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of dead bodies and panic attacks.

\- - -

When Five ran away into the future, he had done so without a precise idea of what he was looking for. Maybe he’d settle for a glimpse of himself as a grown man - taller and more comfortable in his skin, who could possibly even be waiting for him to appear so as to impart some wisdom to his younger self. Maybe he had been looking for Sir Reginald - an opportunity to look his father in the eye and say “I told you so.” Maybe he had simply been looking for a promise that this horrible childhood at the Academy wouldn’t last forever; that he had a life waiting for him beyond those cold, stone walls.

So while Five hadn’t been terribly sure of what he was looking for, he had been certain he would know it when he found it. But he hadn’t expected to find the world on fire. Or to be stuck there, indefinitely. Actually, he hadn’t expected a lot of what ultimately transpired.

For someone so intelligent, Dolores had once quipped, they could write a book about all the things you didn’t expect.

The Academy was in ruins, a smoldering wreck of marble and brick, belching hot smoke into the burning air. In his darkest, angriest daydreams, Five had imagined firebombing his home to the ground, but facing the reality of it was frightening.

His family couldn’t possibly still be inside, could they?

“Vanya! Ben!”

The air was hard to breathe and his throat felt singed with every inhale.

“Dad! Anyone!”

But only the howling, burning winds answered him.

Inside the skeleton of the only home he had ever known, Five finally found people, but they were all dead. At thirteen, Five was by no means unfamiliar with the sight of dead bodies, but he did not know these strangers that lay beneath the rubble, did not understand what they were doing here.

There were only four of them, bloodied and grey with ash. The biggest man he had ever seen still clenched something between his enormous fingers - a glass eyeball, which Five pocketed, moving slowly through nightmarish scene.

A beautiful woman with curly hair lay on her back; her face was serene and she could have been merely sleeping, if it weren’t for the pounds of bricks so obviously crushing her chest in. Another man was off to her side, facedown against the stones, powdered white with dust and death, blood dried down the side of his cheek from a cracked temple.

Five had been raised as a hero, so he did what heroes were supposed to do - he shook their dead limbs, yelled into their unmoving faces, tried to rouse them from their final slumber. But he couldn’t wake the dead, that wasn’t his power, so he let them be.

Where were his siblings? Where was Sir Reginald, Mom, Pogo?

He stumbled to the last man, a little ways back from the rest. He too lay facedown in the wreckage, his eyes half-open and glazed over, unseeing and unmoving. But his arm was twisted out at his side, awkwardly angled away from his body. Five was only a foot or two from his prone form when he saw the umbrella tattooed against the pale underside of his wrist. And it was only then that he knew.

No.

And suddenly all the little details he had been trying not to notice came flooding back in; the big man had the same cheeks and high forehead as Luther, the woman had the same curly hair and wide nose as Allison, the man in black had the same scar over his right eyebrow as Diego.

 _No_.

He ran to Klaus’s side - for who else could this be, long and thin, dressed in a tattered velvet coat - and shook him with all his might, shouting now, shouting and choking and begging for him to _wake up! Klaus! Wake up! Wake up!_

He ran in circles, panicking and sobbing, digging at piles of brick and wood, cutting his hands on broken glass, burning his fingers in the cinders, looking for the rest of them. Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, but where was Ben? Ben should be there, somewhere, shouldn’t he? He was never far from Klaus’s side, but Five couldn’t find a single trace of him.

And Vanya.

Five sat down hard, winded and suddenly up against a fear too big for his body to handle.

Vanya didn’t have any powers. She wouldn’t have stood a chance against this. She would’ve been completely helpless.

Five was by no means a saint, barely even considered himself to b a competent brother, but he had stood up for Vanya on occasion when their siblings grew too mean, had tried to bring her in and include her as best he could given her limitations. Of all his siblings, she was the only one who always and truly felt like family.

He wondered if she had been all alone when she died.

There was a ringing in his ears and the feeling of a black hole ripping open in his chest, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He tasted salt and blood. And the ringing grew into shrieking, grew into screaming, and it was only then that he dimly realized he was the one screaming and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe.

Afterward - when he had screamed and screamed and sucked in a lungful of sooty, foul air and screamed some more - Five laid down among the ruins of his house, among the corpses of his family, staring into the night sky. He wondered vaguely how long it would take him to die here - a day, maybe two? And what would get him first - hunger, thirst, poisonous fumes, wildfire or some combination of them all? And would his family be happy to see him after all this time, or would they be angry at him for leaving and then simply giving up?

Ashes floated on the wind like snowflakes, their movements eerie in the red glow of fires still burning in the streets. It would be years before the skies even began to partially clear, just enough to see a weak sun in the morning. At night, the winds always picked back up, flinging dust and dirt into the sky, obstructing any vision of stars or the moon.

(He later learned that there was no moon. But that was so much later).

When he next awoke, it felt like daytime although nothing about the skies or the atmosphere had changed. Shocked at still being alive, Five decided it was as good a sign as any that he should try to keep living, at least for another day. To do that he needed to move on, try to find some real shelter and food, but he couldn’t leave his siblings like this, alone and unburied, victims to the elements.

In the destroyed husk of the old gardening shed, he found a shovel. In the obliterated kitchen there was a plastic bottle of water and a half-melted bag of peas shoved into the back corner of the battered remains of the freezer. He ate them with his hands and took small sips of water, trying to conserve what he had. And then he got to work.

It was the longest day of Five’s short life. The grave plots he made were shallow, but the ground had been burnt hard and his hands were throbbing now from the cuts and burns. It took hours and hours for him to dig his siblings out. Although he may have been able to work faster, some sick part of his brain was worried about crushing them further, possibly hurting them more.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he dug.

He continued talking to them as he went, terrified of what pernicious thoughts might intrude on him in the quiet. He talked incessantly, filling in ever moment with apologies they could not hear, questions they could not answer.

“Where’s Ben?” he asked the corpses of his dead brothers and sister. “Did he do this? Why isn’t he with you? What about Dad? Mom? Pogo? Were they with you in the end? Where’s Vanya? Did you even think to protect her? Did you warn her at all? Or was there no time? What happened? How do I fix this? What do I do?”

He apologized for hurting them as he pulled them free of stone and mortar, apologized for leaving like he did, apologized for being gone when they needed him, apologized for every mean thing, every snide remark, every cruelty he had ever leveled against them.

Amid the burning of the world, Five’s grief slowly started to ice over in his chest, until it became a parasitic creature within him, molded to his very bones. It helped him compartmentalize, helped him plan. But the weariness of sadness was overwhelming. He felt he’d aged a lifetime in just that day.

Five laid his family in the shallow indents he had carved into the earth one-by-one; Luther, Diego, Allison and Klaus. He covered their prone forms with bricks and stones, inadvertently smearing blood against them as the cuts and welts on his hands ripped open. He closed his eyes as he gently placed the final bricks over their faces, sealing them away within their clumsy tombs.

He left two grave plots untouched - one for Vanya and one for Ben. By this time he had found the newspaper with the date and reasoned that Vanya, an adult and with no powers, must’ve been off on her own, and that her body must now lay beneath one of the thousands of toppled apartment buildings around the city.

But Ben had to be around here somewhere. Five knew he had to be, for where else could he possibly have gone? But with no body and the feeling of night creeping in, Five gave up the search and promised himself he’d come back and find his brother eventually.

It was weeks later when he finally learned the truth. He’d been digging through the blown-out remains of a bookshop backroom when he found a cardboard box only slightly burnt, the great red OVERSTOCK still legibly printed on the side.

He was startled to open it and find photos of Vanya staring up at him, forlorn and serious as a ghost. The title, _EXTRA ORDINARY_ : _My Life as Number Seven_ , was printed in large typeface over her head and Five took a book from the top of the pile, dumbstruck by his discovery. There was a picture on the back of her as an adult. She was still so small, he realized sadly, still so sad.

The book itself was a nightmare. Every page dripping with disdain for _him_ , for their siblings, for their family. Had she been thinking these horrible things about them when he had seen her last? He grew sick to his stomach reading the way she described their trainings and missions, as if it was all a fun club from which she had been denied entry.

They were all the same age, but to Five, Vanya had always been his _little_ sister. Little Vanya, who needed protecting, who spoke so quietly, who played violin, who always greeted them after a mission with a smile and a “so, how did it go?”

The fucking cunt.

The goddamned, arrogant, self-absorbed, vacuous, miserable, selfish, fucking shit-faced son-of-a-goddamn-bitch _cunt._

His vision swam with anger during that first reading. How could she write these things about them? How could she be so fucking naïve, so willfully ignorant to the suffering that had gone on in front of her own face? The level of self-indulgence was maddening, the vanity in her self-pity disgusting.

His growing hatred for his sister almost numbed him to the pain of learning about Ben’s fate. He was both fascinated and horrified by what Vanya described, thankful to finally understand why his brother’s body was still missing from the fallen Academy, ashamed that now the whole world could share in Ben’s final moments.

A whole world that, like his brothers and sisters, was now dead. There was some small satisfaction in that.

Five almost burned the box of Vanya’s books after he finished reading, but in the end he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The book was all he had left of his family, of the life he had fled from in a moment of sheer, teenaged stupidity. He couldn’t let that go, not now, not when he was all alone.

The days trudged on, grey mornings bleeding into sulfuric red nights. Most of the time, Five simply focused on living long enough to see the next morning. But on the rare days where he had food, shelter and clean drinking water, Five would take out Vanya’s book and read, making notes in the columns.

As he grew up, his anger towards his sister dissipated. Dolores was an immense help in that regard, as she gently encouraged Five to look at things from his sister’s point of view.

She had been pushed aside, ignored and made to feel less-than her entire life, Dolores argued, of _course_ she was going to harbor some resentments for that. She was such a small, meek little thing, maybe she felt this book was the only way to get her siblings to listen.

As for Ben, Dolores said gently, look at it this way; to the world, his death was simply the loss of The Horror. To your father, it was the loss of Number Six. Maybe Vanya just wanted to remind people of the boy who had been her brother, try to memorialize his humanity. And even if she only wanted to exorcise her trauma about his passing, wasn’t she allowed that comfort? The truth will out, my dear, and none of us gets to judge how another grieves.

“That remark feels very pointed,” Five had said.

It was, Dolores acknowledged.

But Five was past the point of grief. He was a grown man now, had wasted his childhood hoping to be saved from this desolate wasteland. Now though, he was set on a different task; he was going to go back and stop this from all ever happening. He was going to save the world and save his family - save them from the apocalypse, from each other, but most of all from themselves.

He just needed to get back to them first.

\- - -

The thing was, Five had been so focused on _getting_ back home that he never stopped to think what he would _do_ when he finally arrived. Or who he would have become.

Five had vowed to do anything to get back to his family and like it or not, he had kept that vow. To regret his actions would be to open the floodgates in his heart where he had actively chosen to keep all the softer emotions he felt around death, dying and killing. If he strayed too far down that road he would be lost, and he had not crossed through time and space to simply drown on dry land.

So he threw himself into other activities. School was a welcomed distraction, even if he was smarter than half the dimwits there who were charged with teaching him. Well, maybe more than half, if he was really being honest. Still, there was a certain luxury in using his critical thinking skills for more than just survival and the next kill.

The chaos and mania of his family was a blessing to him when the darker thoughts grew too loud. Five had not spent this much time with so many different people since…well since he had been with them as a child, really. It took adjusting, but even the anxieties that came with it were a gift. Most of the time.

It was just so hard to relate to them, to the other students at school. He was at once an old man - ancient in his grief, worldly in ways that simply come from circling the sun so many times - and also a young boy. He had missed the integral parts of his youth that would have made him an adult, foreshortening his growth so that he remained desperate for relationships he didn’t even know how to instigate, confused by modern technologies he had only ever known as non-functioning hunks of plastic and parts.

Even moving around the city was a challenge, and Five constantly found himself taken aback with dual vision. He’d pass a building - tall as the clouds and shining like mirror in the sun - but see it for the ruined skeleton of steel and stone he had known it as when he was an adult. The library at his school where he now spent so much time studying had been a safe haven for a year or two in his early twenties, and there was something horribly eerie about walking among the stacks of books, whole pristine and cared for, when he knew the smell they made when broken down and used for kindling.

Every day he struggled to acclimate to his new reality. The effort aged him and made him feel childlike in his stupidity. It all came to a head when he finally met Claire, although it wasn’t her fault. Like he did with most things, Five blamed his breakdown on his brothers.

The day started simple enough. Allison had asked Vanya to go with her to the airport where Claire would be handed off by the _au pair_ and asked the boys to wait behind in her apartment, maybe make something for them all to eat if they could.

Klaus had nominated himself as chef for the day, but when he stepped into the kitchen he visibly wilted. “What do children even eat?” he asked.

“We liked peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches,” Five suggested, having offered to help Klaus with the preparations.

Although he would never admit it, the truth was he was nervous about meeting his niece for the first time and wanted a task to occupy himself until she arrived. Klaus had welcomed the addition of a _sous chef_ but now was swatting away all his ideas, his worry growing more and more with each passing minute.

“No, _you_ liked that, the rest of us had taste,” Klaus said. “But maybe Claire doesn’t have taste? Oh, I should’ve asked Allison before she left…Luther, do you know if Claire has taste?”

“What?” Luther blanched, halfway to the fridge to get a drink and looking horribly uncomfortable at being dragged into this conversation.

“Claire? Do you know if she has taste or does she eat peanut butter with marshmallow sandwiches like a psychopath going through puberty?”

“It was just a suggestion, I wasn’t married to the idea,” Five groused.

“How would I know?” Luther asked, panic creeping into his voice. “She might even be allergic.”

“Or Allison could not allow sweets,” Klaus said, nodding in agreement and pointing at him with a spatula. “You know sweets are very _out_ this season with moms.”

“We can cook something not sweet,” Five said, trying to diffuse their anxious ramblings. “Doesn’t Allison usually keep a frozen pizza around? Just throw it in the oven.”

They turned on him in an instant.

“But what if she doesn’t like it?”

“What if Allison doesn’t want her to eat gluten?”

“What if there’s not enough slices and she’s really hungry and gets upset?”

“Would you two shut the fuck up?” Diego snapped as he stalked behind them into the kitchen. He rustled through the fridge and pulled out a bag of carrots and a tub of hummus.

“We’ll just start with this. If she’s still hungry we’ll order out,” he said, thrusting them both into Luther’s arms.

“That’s a great idea, why didn’t I think of that?” Klaus said quickly. “Thanks, Diego.”

But Diego pointedly ignored him, stomping back into the living room, his face as dark and sullen as it had been for days. Klaus’s shoulders fell at being so obviously brushed off, but busied himself by grabbing the food and some plates, beginning to arrange them in a way that was halfway presentable.

Luther shot Five a quizzical glance who only shrugged in return.

It was both troubling and puzzling - they were all used to Diego’s anger spells, but they apparently had been fewer and farther between since returning from Dallas. And even before then, their hotheaded brother had always had a seemingly endless supply of patience when it came to Klaus.

But suddenly something had changed. One morning Diego had been his general pleasant if not angsty self, and by nightfall he was shouting at Klaus through his locked bedroom door, throwing things at the walls to emphasize his ire. And in the following few days, Diego had become increasingly bitter and reserved, lashing out at anyone who dared ask him a question.The low-level thrum of resentment that hung heavy in their house was making worry lines a permanent fixture on Luther’s brow and causing Five to be vaguely sick to his stomach.

Luther followed Diego out into the living room. Five could hear him speaking in low, plaintive tones, punctuated every so often by a sharp exclamation from Diego, but their full conversation was drowned out by Klaus as he started humming loudly, throwing carrots onto the plates with reckless abandon.

“So are you planning on ignoring all this then?” Five asked.

“Carrots at least are good for the eyes,” Klaus muttered, ignoring him. “And hummus is both delicious _and_ nutritious, so it’s definitely a good choice.”

“Klaus,” Five said. “You gonna tell anyone why Diego is so pissed off at you?”

“Oh, you know,” Klaus said airily. “It’s a day that ends in a ‘Y,’ isn’t it? Not that you care.”

The assumption stung a little. Five was an asshole on his best days, but that didn’t stop him from caring, not when it came to his brothers. Still, he tried not to show the hurt.

“You’re right, I don’t,” he said instead. “But it’s annoying me.”

“Yeah? Well, sorry to be such a bother,” Klaus said hotly, breezing past him with the plates and food.

Five followed slowly and made his way to the poof on the floor he had claimed as his own during game nights. Diego sat on one end of the couch, Klaus on the other, and Luther uncomfortably between them. The tension was palpable, and the squirming in Five’s stomach only grew. By the time Allison and Vanya arrived with Claire in tow, he was about ready to shake apart with nerves.

Claire was like a cyclone packed into a small package. Beyond the eyes and chin that were so obviously from her father, Claire was the spitting image of Allison, down to the curls on her head. And she had even inherited her mother’s penchant for flourishing and flouncing when she entered a room, the force of her excitement blowing them all away.

It was a lot all at once. Five’s palms were sweaty and the room was feeling warm. He was also suddenly aware of how desperately uncomfortable he was around children, having spent so little time around them. He didn’t know what to make of his niece, nor what she would make of him - her uncle, an old man in a teenager’s body.

“And Claire, this is your Uncle Five,” Allison said, leading her daughter through introductions.

He didn’t know how much Allison had told Claire of his “predicament” or even how much she understood. It seemed unbelievably silly to hold out his hand to this child for a handshake, but the idea of offering a hug was somehow much worse.

“Hello Claire,” he said, aiming for an air of casualness and probably landing somewhere around standoffish like he normally did. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She didn’t miss a beat.

“Hello, Five,” Claire said in a mock-serious tone, taking his hand and shaking it as hard as she could. “I’m six.”

Vanya snorted loudly, grabbing Allison’s arm as they both dissolved into a fit of hysterical giggles. It was obviously a practiced line, judging by Claire’s wide, toothy smile and ringing laughter directed behind her shoulder to her mom and aunt.

“Was that it Mommy?”

“Perfect, exactly like we rehearsed,” Allison hiccuped, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes.

Five just grimaced, hoping it would be read as a smile.

The one good thing about children, he reasoned later as they all settled around the carrot and hummus platter, is that they required very little from him other than the appearance of attention. There was no room for any talking save for what Claire had to say, and he was happy to sit back and listen. She was practically vibrating with excitement at meeting her uncles for the very first time and had nothing but stories to tell them - stories about themselves she had heard secondhand through Allison, stories about herself and her school, stories about her first big trip on an airplane - the chatter was endless.

Five found Claire to be funny in the way only children could be, completely unaware and wholly selfish, mirroring gestures and speaking patterns she could’ve only learned at the knees of her superstar parents. Like her mother before her, she was obviously a ham for attention, and every laugh or smile she pulled from her aunt or uncles only egged her on to be bigger, louder.

On some level even Five was not immune to her charm, but he was not enjoying this in the slightest. For as he sat arm-and-arm with his family, the squirming in his stomach had turned into a bizarre tightness that was moving up his chest, and he was keenly aware of his heartbeat at the base of his throat.

It was just so much to suddenly take in. What was he doing here with these people, this family? Their lives had been so blissfully normal, all things extraordinary considered, and Claire was living proof of that. Five had left, and his siblings had simply moved on - gotten jobs, built families, the things adults were supposed to do. And what had he done with his adulthood? Survived, murdered and maimed. Compared to them, he was nothing more than a very convincing fox in a henhouse.

Everything around Five felt hollow, and he could feel his perception shifting, the dual vision rearing its head with a vengeance. He stared down at the floor, terrified that if he looked up he would see the blood flowing from Diego’s cracked skull, see Luther’s bloodied hands stiff with rigor mortis clenched around a glass eyeball, see Klaus’s dead eyes staring off at nothing, see Allison singed grey with death and ash, see Vanya’s eyes glow pearly white with murderous rage, see Claire -

Claire. Where had she been when the apocalypse came? Who had been holding her when she died?

“Five? Are you okay?”

He couldn’t breathe.

There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, the muscles pulling tight as he gasped for air. The room was suddenly too quiet and too hot and he was aware of the eyes on him of the concern and he wanted to tell them that he was fine and to leave him alone but he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t speak and there were dark spots in his vision now and a roaring in his ears that was engulfing him whole and he was going to die. After everything he had lived through and all he had done to survive and come home - he was going to die right here with his whole family watching.

“Five? _Five!”_

It was pure, animal instinct that got him out of that room. One moment he was shaking apart on that stupid little poof, the next he sat with his back against the far wall of another room. Alone at last, he let himself fall apart, an earthquake shattering outwards from his body. He had no awareness of the seconds creeping by, nor any idea of where he was. It was only when a door opened at the far side of the room and Luther hurried in that Five even realized he was still in Allison’s apartment.

“Five? Oh shit,” Luther said. He crouched down in front of him, taking up the whole of his vision. “Hey, hey - I need you to breathe for me.”

Five worked up just enough energy to shake his head. He was obviously breathing - the sound of his own panting was thunderous in his ears - but it was shallow, the pains in his chest were restricting him from drawing a deep breath.

“Look at me, hey, Five? Look at me, okay?” Luther’s voice was low and calm. “You’re right here - you are in Allison’s apartment, in her guest bedroom, and we are here, okay? We’re safe, you’re safe.”

But his words were like static against Five’s ears. He was going to be sick. He may have even said as much out loud, but his voice was so high and far away he could barely hear it.

“Okay, let’s try this then,” Luther said before, bizarrely, he started to sing. “ _When the night has come_ \- you know this song, right? Sing it with me - _and the way is dark, and that moon is the only light you see.”_

The lunacy of the moment was enough to pull Five back just a little to the surface of his thoughts. He gaped at his brother.

“I know you know this song man, you have to sing along,” Luther insisted. “ _No I won’t be afraid, no I won’t be afraid - ”_

“ _Just…as long…as you c-come stand by me_ ,” Five half-sang, half-gasped.

“That’s it!” Luther encouraged. “ _So darlin’, darlin’ stand by me.”_

 _“O-oh stand…by me_.” The words were coming easier to Five now, and he felt the tightness in his chest loosen, bit by bit.

They sang the next line, and then another and another. By the time the last off-key notes had warbled away, he was feeling surprisingly better, if not completely exhausted.

“Back with us?” Luther asked. He was sitting next to Five now, his back against the wall, long legs splayed out in front of him.

“Yeah,” Five said. He breathed in deep, reveling in the feeling of his lungs filling up completely with no pain. “Sorry about…that. I’m not sure what the hell - ”

“You had a panic attack,” Luther said, as if it were the most simple thing in the world. “Suzy Mae, one of the dancer’s at Jack’s club, she used to get them a lot too, only her’s were really bad. They used to call me backstage to try to help. Once or twice I had to drive her to the emergency room, but Jack never liked when I did that. But sometimes getting her to sing helped, got her to stop hyperventilating enough to calm down.”

Five wiped at his face, surprised and disgusted to realize tears were mixed with the sweat on his cheeks. “So…I had a fit?”

“You just went really still and white,” Luther said. “And then you were breathing really loudly and you started to shake. But no, it wasn’t a fit.”

“Did I scare her?” Five asked after a moment, his voice breaking ever so slightly on the last word.

“Claire? No, no you didn’t,” Luther said, thankfully ignoring the way Five’s voice cracked. “I think she was startled when you teleported, but Allison was calming her down when I came to find you. I think she’s going to be fine.”

There was a quiet knock and the door opened. Vanya peeked inside and, finding her brothers sitting somewhat calmly at the other end of the room, visibly brightened. She let herself in and brought over a glass of water.

“Hey,” she said. “I thought you might need this.”

Five took the glass from her and gulped down the water, refusing to meet her gaze, shame and embarrassment burning his cheeks.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Like shit,” he said honestly. “And tired. Really tired.”

“That makes sense,” Vanya said. “Do you think it would be best if Luther and I walked you home?”

“But Claire…”

“Is here for another two weeks, you’ll see her a lot,” Vanya said firmly. “And honestly? She seems really tired from her flight. I’m sure Allison would like some time alone with her too.”

“I just…don’t want her to see me like this,” Five said in a small voice. “I don’t want any of you to see me like this.”

He felt stupid, tiny and weak from his episode, bone tired and achingly sad all at once. If he could teleport himself from this room into his own bed he would, but the effort seemed monumental in this state.

“Vanya will make sure everyone is in the kitchen,” Luther said. “And you and I will slip out the front door. You won’t have to answer anyone’s questions and Claire doesn’t have to see you.”

“Just give me a minute to round everyone up and then you can go,” Vanya said, taking the now empty glass from Five with a small smile and retreating back out the door.

Luther stood and offered his hand to Five who batted it away, choosing instead to cling to the wall as he rose on unsteady legs.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine,” Five snapped. Then, feeling guilty, he added, “thanks. For helping and all.”

Luther’s smile barely masked the clear concern shining in his wide, blue eyes. “Of course, Five,” he said. “That’s what family is for.”

\- - -

The holiday season ended with more of a fizzle than a bang that year. After Five’s “episode,” as he was calling it - along with some choice words spat between Diego and Klaus - Allison had decided that her brothers weren’t ready for unaccompanied and unplanned interactions with her daughter just yet. So within a day of Claire’s arrival, Allison had re-instituted her manic scheduling.

Five was so utterly drained in the days following his panic attack that he had no complaints about simply following Allison’s plans, going where he was told and when with no snide comments about it.

“You holding up okay?” Allison asked, quietly pulling him aside the day after his incident.

“I’m fine,” Five hissed, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. “Why don’t you go mother your own child for a change and stop bothering me?”

Allison bit her lip against any retort and let him be.

Five remained feeling on somewhat uneasy footing with Claire, although she of course did not notice it in the slightest. It was something of a comfort to have her with them during those days; her simple cheery nature melting away some of the unease that still lingered between the brothers.

Just in time for Christmas Eve, Diego and Klaus reached some sort of mutual understanding. There was no more snapping and sad puppy-dog eyes between them, but they were cool and unfailingly polite with each other, which was somehow worse.

After that, Luther and Five took their cues from Klaus and generally left Diego to himself, and for now that seemed to be working. But Five knew the signs to look for in an oncoming storm, and Diego was on the precipice of a gale-force event.

January brought with it freezing rains the drenched the city and kept the days in a state of semipermanent darkness. It was during this interval that Claire returned to Los Angeles, which was done with a lot of tears shed between her and Allison. Her absence was suddenly and keenly felt by the whole family, and with dark moods mirroring the dark skies, Five found any excuse to avoid home and his pouting siblings for as long as he could.

The winter semester of his school began in the middle of the month, which gave Five the opportunity he needed to make his presence scarce. He spent his free time between and after classes holed up in the library - which still seemed a bit eerie but was a sight better than his own home for the moment - and began taking the long bus route home.

That new part of his routine was strangely enjoyable - he had never had an opportunity to ride a bus as a child, and there were no functioning ones in the apocalypse. The simple pleasure of sitting next to a wide window and watching the city roll by, staring at strangers, and listening to snippets of their meaningless conversations was so blissfully normal and constant that Five found his evening rides home to be almost therapeutic.

So of course, it made sense that this would be when Lila finally appeared.

He didn’t see her at first - it was raining out which meant the bus was twice as crowded as usual and she blended in well with the other oncoming passengers. But he felt himself being watched, and when he looked towards the source, he found her eyes were set for where he sat in the very back of the bus.

Lila smirked when they made eye contact. Five was so startled by her sudden intrusion into this unbelievably normal space that he did not even protest when she walked right to the back and took the seat next to him, trapping him against the window.

“Surprised to see me?” she asked by ways of introduction. “You’re losing your edge, old man.”

Surprised was the wrong word. Five had figured this meeting was coming; Vanya had filled him in on her day of being followed by Lila earlier that fall, and Klaus had finally broken down and confided in him a little of what had transpired at the toy shop, the fallout of which had led to Diego’s outburst and stony resentment. With only a handful of siblings left, Five had been aware this might have occurred sooner or later, but she couldn’t have chosen a worse time. His anxiety always seemed close to the surface these days, and he was annoyed to feel it bubbling over in the pit of his stomach as she approached.

He swallowed and tried to put on an attitude of indifference.

“Well, public transportation has a way of attracting the loonies and the insane,” Five said evenly. “You just don’t seem to register above the normal levels of crazy I encounter on a daily basis.”

Lila snorted. “Yourself included, I’d imagine.”

“So, to what do I owe this fun reunion?” he asked. “You can’t possibly be here for a rematch.”

“Who needs one?” she shrugged. “I won our last round, if you remember.”

“That’s not even remotely true.”

“Isn’t it? I knocked your scrawny ass down with a cast iron skillet,” she said, grinning at the memory. “Or did I hit you too hard to recall?”

“Funny, cause I remember our last match ending with you fleeing like a scared little pup with its tail between its legs because you learned that mommy-dearest was just using you. After, of course, watching her get plowed down by a vengeful Swedish cowboy with a machine gun,” Five said as nastily as he could.

He watched the grin drop from her face with a feeling of satisfaction.

“Oh, I bet it just _burns_ you that you weren’t the one to put that final bullet in her, doesn’t it?” Lila breathed, all airs of pretense and ease evaporating in an instant.

“She’s dead now, what does it matter to me who pulled the trigger?” Five asked. “‘Course, it must just eat you up inside that you never got her to pay for what she did to you.”

“Shut up,” Lila snapped. “She was my mother and I loved her.”

“Of course you did.”

“ _Love_ her,” she corrected angrily. “And she loved me.”

“Tell me, how many times a day do you have to repeat that line for it to start sounding true?” Five asked. “Once? Twice? Half a dozen times?”

“She was my _mother_.”

“No, she killed your mother and kidnapped you, or don’t _you_ recall? She raised you to be a to be a weapon,” Five said. “She isolated you so you only had her, were completely dependent on _her_ , and she doled out love and affection like treats to keep you from realizing how short of a leash you were really on. Believe me, it’s a story I am all too familiar with.”

Lila refused to take his bait, her lips tightly pursed and glowering at the seat ahead of them. But she radiated anger like a forcefield, the power of it completely engulfing Five in her orbit. God, it was tragic how easy this was for him - she was a veritable powder keg of emotional turbulence; it would take next to nothing to push her over the edge.

But the storm clouds darkening her brow were all too familiar to Five, and it struck him suddenly how much Lila’s bitterness mirrored his own brother’s. He wondered how much of Diego’s anger was powered by Lila’s own anguish, how much they fed off each other’s turmoil. He knew Diego professed to love her - and he did not doubt his brother meant it - but was he so stupidly blind to the toxic codependency that had developed between them?

It seemed so unfair then, that Lila was sitting next to him now, emanating equal parts hurt and rage. How could he be expected to diffuse a pain this big when he himself was so lost in his own anxieties? She’d be better off with any one of his siblings.

But it was Five, and not his siblings, who understood grief, knew a little about the ways it fed on confusion and open-ended questions with no hope of closure. He knew how it could knock you off balance, embittering you to the entire world. And Five knew all too well what it meant to outlive his loved ones without any hope of understanding why him and not them.

The truth will out, Dolores said in his memory. Look at it from her point of view, and remember dear, none of us gets to judge how another grieves.

He took a deep breath.

“I had been at the Commission for just over two years when I was approached by the Handler with a new assignment,” Five began slowly. The nearest passenger was three rows ahead of them on the bus and was wearing large headphones, but he kept his voice pitched low just to be safe.

“It wasn’t out of the ordinary for us to meet about a kill, but she seemed especially interested in this one, told me to prioritize it above all my other work,” he continued. “Normally for something like that I expected to meet with the authorizer themself, usually AJ, and read a report about why this person had to go and when - a little backend justification for taking a life I suppose, making everything nice and clean for auditors. Well, none of that happened this time. I just had the names and where to find them.”

He paused. Lila leaned in a little closer, her eyes fixed straight ahead, face now carefully blank.

“Because it was a double kill, the Handler insisted she’d come along. I supposed at the time it was something of a performance review.”

Five sighed, closing his eyes against the influx of memories, the compartment in his heart where he hid all his killings open and flooding his senses. He was now in blood stepped in so far that, should he wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er.

“You don’t need to hear the details of what happened that night, and I don’t want to get into them if it’s all the same,” he said quietly. “I will tell you it was messier than I liked, less dignified than my usual style. But it was not my kill to manage, it was her’s - I was just her gun. I didn’t know there was a child in the house. I did not know she took you. All I knew was that she offered to file the final report with management. And until you showed up, that was the last time I thought about the people in that house.”

“The Gills,” Lila whispered thickly. “Ronnie and Anita Gill. They owned a flower shop in Ilford.”

“They were just names on a piece of paper, Lila,” Five said, shrugging. “They were just two more names on a long list I had to cross off to pay my debt.”

“How perfectly clinical,” she spat. “How very professional of you, ticking off names on a ledger. Well, you can lie to everyone else all you like about why you did the things you did, but I can see straight through you, Five. You are a killer.”

The words were familiar, echoing the accusation from the Handler’s own perfectly red lips what felt like eons ago. Back then he had denied it. Now, he was too far in to turn back, too raw to hide from the truth when it stared him in the face with wide, dark eyes.

“I am,” Five said, the admission weighing heavily on his tongue. “I don’t know if I was always supposed to be, but I became one in the end.”

“You would never have let her live, not when she remained a threat to you and your stupid siblings,” Lila said. “You would’ve killed her in the end. And you would’ve killed me too.”

“Trust me, it’s tempting now. But to keep my family safe?” Five laughed despite himself. “Killing is too small a thing. I’d drown the sun and burn the moon whole for them.”

“What absolute bollocks. You obviously don’t know when to cut and run,” she sneered. “Don’t know when to say enough’s enough and save yourself.”

“Not when it comes to them, unfortunately.”

“You really must have made a lousy assassin,” Lila said. “Too emotional.”

“On the contrary, I think my emotions helped,” Five said. “I just told myself that every person I killed was the only thing standing between me and my family, and that they needed to go down in order for me to make it back home.”

“Including my parents?”

“Including your parents,” Five said. “That’s just the way it had to be.”

They were silent for a moment as the bus halted to a stop and the passengers changed. Night had settled heavily now, the rain a steady drumbeat against the roof. Lila’s hands were clenched white against the suitcase in her lap, the shadows under her eyes bruised purple and black, her fringed hair streaked with tiny droplets of rain. She was trembling slightly and Five could hear the breath catching in her chest.

“I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” he said finally.

“It’s worth nothing,” Lila said, swiping at the tears dripping down her cheeks. “It’s worth less than nothing. You made a choice - my family or yours. And you - you selfish little prick - you chose yours.”

“And you have the power now to change that,” Five said. He nodded to the suitcase in her lap. “You could use that right now, go back in time and save your parents. Go ahead, put a bullet between my eyes, slash the Handler’s throat, it won’t make any difference to me. Unless you’re scared.”

“Scared? Scared of what, you with an AARP membership?”

“Scared that you won’t save them,” Five said. “Scared to face down the Handler.”

“Please,” she scoffed, voice quaking. “Now you’re just reaching.”

“No, that’s it, isn’t it?” he asked, understanding dawning. “All this power and it comes down to this one choice - your parents or the woman who raised you? The woman who lied to you, manipulated you and forced you to be a killer…or the parents who might’ve let you become your own person - two people whose faces you can’t even remember, parents who were weak enough to die and let you get taken.”

“Fuck you.”

“I see straight through you, Lila,” Five said, echoing her words. “And I’ll tell you something else - there is no choice here. You have to leave the past as it is.”

“How can you even say that?” she bit out. “After everything you’ve done - ”

“And look at what I’ve done!” He was Pandora’s box unlatched, the truths spilling easily from him like horrors into an unsuspecting world. “I have become my own worse nightmare. I have become a _monster_ \- a half-man, half-child beast filled from crown to toe top-full of direst cruelty! You want to save your family? _Fine_. But be prepared to make the trade and become _this_. Be prepared to lose yourself in the process.”

“I am _nothing_ like you,” Lila snarled. “And I have no plans to _kill my own mother_.”

Five laughed then, full in her face. It was a mistake, but he couldn’t help it.

“You are a child,” he said. “You don’t even know what it is that you want. You’d rather just lash out - teeth, temper and all - than face your own grief.”

“Teeth, temper and all,” Lila repeated darkly. “Well, you little kinder shit, takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

Her hand shot towards him, and for a moment he thought she might be aiming to hit him, but she only grabbed the yellow line by the window and yanked it down, signaling a stop for the driver up front.

“Have fun with your demons, Five,” she taunted as she stood and made her way to the exit. “Careful they don’t catch up with you now.”

Five groaned when she had finally disappeared into the rainy night, burying his head in his hands. He had missed his stop and needed to get home quickly, needed to warn Diego of what had just occurred, his anger be damned.

It was a funny thing, he thought as he transported himself away from the bus and started doubling back towards his apartment, ignoring the startled looks of other pedestrians on the street and the icy cold pelting of rain. As troubling as his encounter with Lila had been, he felt inextricably lighter, unburdened in some way. Physically too - he no longer felt the knot of anxiety writhing in his gut.

Well, after Pandora opened up and let loose all her horrors into the world, you know what they found at the bottom of the box, don’t you? Dolores asked in his memory. They found hope. 

\- - -

Business may be booming, but Sal - ever the tight-ass - still hadn’t hired a new janitor for the gym. At first, he and Diego had split the workload of cleaning-up after closing. But given how things were at home, Diego had taken on the duties entirely, which meant he rarely left until well into the evening.

“Next you’ll be sayin’ you wanna move back in,” Sal observed.

Diego did not dignify that with a response.

To say things at home were tense would’ve been an insult to the idea of tension itself. Logically, he knew his anger towards Klaus was misplaced, knew he had meant no harm and what occurred between him and Lila was a simple misunderstanding. But the sadness invoked by even thinking her name was overwhelming. He felt completely out of control when it came to her, out of step and grasping for any sign that she might come back, might even choose to stay. But all the dark, unhappy thoughts swirling in his head were too complicated to name - complex emotionality had never been his strength. But anger was easy, anger he knew, anger he could handle.

It wasn’t fair, but he didn’t know what else to do. Every morning he woke up feeling a knot of resentment sitting atop his chest, and every evening he went to bed hoping that he would wake the next day refreshed with a clear mind. It was a horrible cycle, and he could feel it wearing away at Five and Luther too. So for all their sakes - his included - Diego removed himself from their company as best he could. And if it meant working two jobs at the gym in order to avoid them, so be it.

Diego was just finishing up for the evening, doing one final sweep of the back hallway with a broom, when he heard the front door of the gym open with a distinctive jangle.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Sal said from the reception desk he had taken over as his own. “Hey lady, didn’t you hear me? We’re _closed_.”

The hairs on the back of Diego’s neck stood straight up, and he felt his stomach twist as he walked to the front, knowing who he would find standing there.

“Diego Hargreeves,” he heard Lila say as he rounded the corner. “Is he here?”

“What’s it to you?” Sal groused. “You here to cause trouble?”

“Yes.”

Lila stood just beyond the front door, looking frighteningly like a specter sent in from the dark and stormy night outside to gut them both. Her red combat boots were the only splash of color in the all black ensemble she still wore - faded black jeans, a black sweater that had seen better days, and a damp black overcoat. Her hair had been hacked inexpertly just below her ears and rainwater dropped from the spiky edges onto the suitcase she clutched tightly in her fist. Under the flickering lights, her skin was tinged grey, her thin cheeks wet with tear tracks, blackened by runny eyeliner.

She was a horrible sight, but fuck it all if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing Diego had ever seen in that gym. His heartbeat sped up in his chest and he felt his throat tighten - half in relief, half in anger knowing she could still have this affect on him when he was so damned mad at her.

They stared at each other across the space, neither moving towards the other.

Sal seemed to sense murderous mood between the two of them. “Friend of yours, Hargreeves?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Diego said hoarsely. “Why don’t you head home for the evening Sal? We need to…talk. I’ll lock up when I leave.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Sal said, eyeing Lila with apprehension before rounding back on him. “Listen, I don’t know what you did Hargreeves,but whatever’s comin’ to you….looks like you prolly deserve it.”

He chuckled to himself as he grabbed his keys and shuffled past Lila out the front door. “Try not to kill him, sweetheart,” Sal called to her as he left. “I hate bringin’ on new hires.”

The silence between them was tangible, the pattering of the rain outside unnaturally loud.

“Seems like a charmer,” Lila said finally.

“He grows on you,” Diego said, flexing his hand against the broom he was still holding. “What do you want now, Lila?”

“Always such a gentleman,” she sneered. “Always so polite - not a ‘how _are_ you Lila’ or a ‘where have you _been_ Lila,’ hm? Just down to business then?”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been in the talking mood of late,” Diego said.

“Not much in a talking mood now either, to be honest.”

“What do you want, Lila?” he repeated.

“You’re angry with me?” she asked, baring her teeth in something that was not quite a smile. “Good.”

Lila dropped the suitcase to the floor and came towards him, discarding her coat and ripping her shredded sweater off as she went, leaving her in just a black undershirt. She walked until she stood toe-to-toe with him, invading his personal space and forcing him to look down to meet her gaze.

She radiated the chill from outside. Instinctually, he moved to touch her, but she slapped him across the face, hard.

“ _Jesus fuck!_ ” he swore, dropping the broom and stumbling backwards, bringing a hand to his stinging cheek.

Lila rolled her shoulders, crouching into a fighting stance, fists raised. “C’mon then,” she challenged, eyes bright. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” Diego said.

She sprang towards him, punching her fist at his head, which he ducked easily.

“Lila -”

“Fight me!”

She aimed a left hook towards him, which he swerved only to catch her boot into his gut.

Diego groaned, falling backwards to the floor. Lila stood over him - no feral grins on her features now, no manic shining in her eyes. Just pure, cold fury and disgust clearly stamped across her features.

“Fine,” he spat. “If this is how you want it, this is what you get.”

He reared back and kicked out, catching her in the kneecap and sending her crashing down with a pained yell.

Like everything else they seemed to do, Diego and Lila were maddeningly, _perfectly_ matched in a fight. He didn’t know if it was her years of training or extraordinary skills at mimicry, but she met him punch-for-punch, kick-for-kick, even skillfully executing some of the acrobatic moves he typically used to distract and overcome his more basic opponents.

There was no testing of the other’s limits, no gentle jabs to gauge reactions nor staid kicks to find where chinks in armor may lay. No, they knew all each other’s weaknesses, knew them like second nature. They were consummate mirrors of the other, and Lila did not pull her punches, so neither did Diego. It didn’t matter - neither could land a true blow with the other so accurately anticipating their aim.

Every clash and retreat brought their faces close enough to kiss, the glancing fall of skin on skin reminiscent of more intimate moments shared and lost in the haze of anger and spite. They circled each other, lunging when the opportunity struck, arms skimming over each other, feet carrying them forwards and back in a steady rhythm. The could have been dancing.

_“They’re playing our song.”_

First blood was Lila’s, feinting one way and striking out the other. Diego felt his lip split on contact, tasted the copper on his tongue as backed away from her to regroup. 

Lila’s face was shiny with sweat and bright with triumph, her chest heaving as she swung herself into the boxing ring and stared down at him.

“C’mon loverboy,” she taunted. “That all you got?”

Diego was burning, outrage licking up his spine, pulse thundering in his ears. So when he pulled himself into the ring, he gave her no time to react, striking quickly with a series of short, sharp jabs.

She met him head on, but this time she was outmatched. Lila was good, but they were in his space, _his_ boxing ring, and even her dirty moves - her shots at his groin, his ankles - were not enough to hold him back.

Second blood was Diego’s. Lila moved too slowly to block a swing at her face and was knocked backwards. She swiped a the blood trickling from her nose, face darkening with rage.

Her temper made her sloppy. She twisted around, aiming a roundhouse kick at his chest and leaving herself wide open. Diego darted forward, grabbing her ankle and yanking, sending her toppling to the ground. She fell to her back with a cry and he was on her before she could recover, dropping onto her hips and pinning her arms above her head.

“Enough!” He yelled.

She struggled against his grip and he tightened his hold on her wrists, slamming them back into the mat for emphasis.

“Enough, Lila,” he panted. “We’re done.”

Lila went still beneath him, eyes pitch black. She widened her legs around him, hooking her ankles around his hips and pushing her lower body against his, leveraging herself up so she could press her mouth to him.

Diego fell into her, the adrenaline in his veins silencing all better judgement in a sea white noise. His focus narrowed to the wet slide of her tongue against his, the press of her smooth lips against his broken one, the gasps she breathed into his mouth. He moaned despite himself, pressing deeper into her.

Final blood was Lila’s as she bit down on him, hard.

“What is wrong with you!” Diego shouted, falling off her as she scrambled away from him to the other side of the ring.

“Me? What’s wrong with you?” Lila lobbed back at him. “Who falls for that move, honestly?”

They sat apart from each other, backs against the ropes, breathing heavily.

“Klaus told me what happened, Lila,” Diego said finally, spitting out the blood that was collecting below his tongue. “I’m sorry if he spooked you, alright? Klaus, he means well, but it doesn’t always translate.”

“So you lot don’t just want me for my powers then?” She shot at him. “You don’t just want me to join up to complete your little Umbrella gang, be your new Number Six?”

“No one wants that from you.”

“You mean no one wants me.”

“I want you,” Diego said firmly.

When she gave him no response, no indication that she had heard him at all, he repeated himself, slowly and carefully. “I want you,” he said again. “And…I want you to stay. Here, with me…you don’t have to run anymore, Lila. I meant what I said in Dallas. We can be your family.”

“Family,” Lila barked a laugh, and he was startled to see her eyes filling with tears. “You think I want _your_ family? You don’t know what I want, Diego, you don’t even know me.”

“I know - ”

“What’s my surname?”

He stopped, confused. “It’s Pitts,” he said. “Lila Pitts.”

“Wrong,” she said. “It’s Gill.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet and turned her back to him, lowering herself out of the ring and collecting her sweater and coat where she had tossed them, pulling them on one by one. There was a feeling of finality with her movements - somehow the conversation had ended without him. Somewhere there had been a test he had inadvertently failed.

“Lila Pitts, Lila Gill, I don’t give a fuck,” he called after her, grabbing the ropes and hoisting himself up. “But if walk out that door tonight, you better be prepared to keep walking. You want to keep running? Fine, that’s on you. But you can’t keep coming back here, not if you’re not going to stay.”

She stopped by the door, suitcase already in hand, and turned back towards him. She really was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. But he knew what she was going to say before she said it, her decision clearly written across her face. With every fiber of his being, Diego willed her not to say it, desperate for her to choose him, for her to put down the suitcase and choose to stay.

“I mean it Lila,” he said. “If you leave now, don’t come back.”

“I wasn’t planning on it anyways,” she said.

Diego turned his back to her and left the ring, heading down the back hallway towards his old room. He would not watch her leave again, was sick to his stomach with the sight of it. But he could not stop himself from straining to hear the door, and when it jangled open and slammed shut, he knew that she was gone.

And true to her word, Lila did not come looking for him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been dealing with panic attacks since I was twelve years old. These are the best tips I have ever learned from my therapist for calming down and centering myself once they start.
> 
> 1\. List the street names of every place you've ever lived from oldest to most recent. This requires your brain to recall and process long-term memory, which can bring it out of fight-or-flight mode.
> 
> 2\. List the colors of objects you see around you. This is a helpful grounding technique, and forces your brain to actively process its surroundings, which can bring it out of fight-or-flight mode.
> 
> 3\. Sing (or hum) a song out loud. Not only does this require your brain to activate long-term memory - forcing it out of fight-or-flight mode - but it helps regulate your breathing. Oftentimes panic attacks are exacerbated by hyperventilation. Controlled breathing can help deescalate. 
> 
> \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
> 
> \- _"Truth will come/ to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son/ may, but at the length truth will out."_ Merchant of Venice, Act II scene ii
> 
> \- _Stand By Me_ by Ben E. King, came out in 1961. I think it stands to reason that the girls in Jack Ruby's club would’ve known this popular song from the radio and it would’ve been an easy song to remember and sing in the middle of a panic attack.
> 
> \- _"I am in blood/ Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more/ Returning were as tedious as go o'er."_ Macbeth, Act III scene iv
> 
> \- _"Come, you spirits/ That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here/ And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full/ Of direst cruelty."_ Macbeth, Act I scene v
> 
> \- According to Greek mythology, Pandora was the first human woman on earth, and the gods gave her a box on her wedding day, though they warned her not to open it. But she did anyways, and unleashed death, sickness and other evils into the world. Terrified, she is said to have closed the lid before letting out the last thing stuck to the bottom of the box - hope.


	5. Allison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How about this,” Allison offered. “Question for question. You ask me one, I ask you one. Think of it as getting to know one another, not as an interrogation.”
> 
> Lila thought this over, dragging her fingertip along the rim of her cup. “Alright, deal,” she said finally. “But I want veto power.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so out of hand I literally split it in half and it is _still_ my longest one to date. As I may have mentioned, this is my busiest season at work, so apologies with the delays in posting! That said, hope the wait is worth it!

\- - -

Most days, Allison was doing fine. Better than fine, even - she was doing _great_. She really was; there was so much to be thankful for now, as she reminded herself constantly. Who wouldn’t be happy with this new life that had been scraped together through time and space itself? In just the first year since her return from Dallas, she had accomplished so much more than she had ever dreamed could be possible, even for The Rumor.

First and foremost, she had her family back - all her living siblings and her daughter. Seeing them all together during that first Christmas back had loosened something in her chest she had’t realized had been tensed. And even with all the peripheral turmoil, Allison had felt herself breathing fully for what felt like the first time as they all sat beneath the giant tree in her living room, exchanging gifts. How she had ever convinced herself to live without these people was become stranger and stranger with each passing day, until she could no longer remember the miasma of regret that used to accompany all thoughts of “sisterhood” and “family.” 

And of course, there was her new career path on the stage. Performing was a natural gift to Allison, as easy as lying. And coupled with her pre-pubescent need to be the center of attention, well, had anyone really been surprised that she had been so drawn to acting? But natural talent only propelled you so far - Hollywood could brush up the blemishes of foundering skills and lackluster appeal through VFX and a highly-adept team of publicists, but live theater left an actor vulnerable to the whims of an audience, to the great churning machine of production. There was no real hiding under the stage lights, and even a whole team of overpaid professionals couldn’t spin something from nothing. 

Allison loved every moment of it. The transition from silver screen to golden stage could be daunting for even the most seasoned film stars, no use denying that, but the challenge was exhilarating. She loved having time with her characters now, weeks not days to understand them, find them, connect with them. She loved being able to _be_ them for hours, not minutes. And as the weeks grew long and the days short, Allison discovered the reverent sort of magic that imbued the wings of a theater. She began arriving to rehearsals early so as to have a moment to herself, sitting on the apron of the stage, breathing in the smells of wood and oil and velvet; staring out over the rows of seats that flickered, disappeared and reformed in the low glowing lights; attuning herself to the silence of an empty hall which always felt like the deep breath before a plunge.

So yes, Allison was happy. Not deliriously so, but content. And content was enough, _had_ to be enough, because that was all she was ever going to get now with her stupid, stubborn heart torn in two. 

She had made peace with the fact that half of her would always live in Dallas with Ray, and the other half in Los Angeles with Claire, and there simply was no reconciling the two. To heal one part of her aching soul would mean to lose the other. The chasm between the two people she loved most in this world was too deep to navigate, threatened to drown her whole if she spent too much time considering its darkness and depths. 

So she simply didn’t, and, like a shark, kept moving forward. It was not by any means an unfamiliar coping mechanism, but it was easier now than it ever had been. Allison, by all accounts, had long ago come to terms with the fact that ‘happy’ just would never be in the cards for her, and she either had to accept that and move on or lose her life to wallowing self-pity.

“Nothing ever makes you happy, does it?” Patrick had asked once, twice, a million times.

The first time had been innocuous and forgettable - uttered fondly following a movie they saw together in theaters, an old rerun of a classic that ended with the would-be-bride and her boyfriend sitting at the back of a bus contemplating their new lives. It was one of Patrick’s favorites, first seen at a transformative time in his life, and he was astounded that Allison had never watched it. Some thought the ending sad, he explained, but they were wrong. He saw in the character’s faces not regret, but the unspooling promises of their future, the resolve to strike out against society’s norms and create their own paths forward.

But Allison had cried, feeling a pang in her chest as the end credits rolled that was so deep she barely had the words to articulate why it hurt. Patrick had held her tight and kissed her forehead, promising no movie for their second date. He asked after her happiness almost as an afterthought, failing to hide the disappointment in his voice.

As their relationship progressed, Allison found she was quite good at disappointing him, and did so with an alarming frequency. Patrick may have professed to love her, but it became ever so apparent that he meant only certain versions of her. He had been in awe of her as The Rumor, and then enamored with her as the young ingénue she presented herself as when they first met on the set of a failed television pilot. 

And Allison - so young, fresh-eyed and desperate for approval - had eagerly tried to sand down her rough edges and become the woman he thought she was; naturally charming, elegant and self-assured. But the more she tried, the harder it became to resist the baser instincts she had honed as a teenaged superhero, to reign in her vanity, her selfishness and insatiable nature. 

But that night of their first date, standing outside the cineplex, blushing despite herself when Patrick brushed the tears from her cheeks, she had looked into his big, blue eyes filled with adoration and promised herself she wouldn’t give in to her worser demons, would never, _ever_ rumor him. And she was very nearly successful, at least in the beginning. 

But then there was that one time he had been feeling moody and didn’t want to go downtown to the grand opening of some new restaurant - the inevitably doomed brainchild of some superstar chef who had a bit of a thing for Allison. They just had to make an appearance, it was only polite and who knew for how long this place would even be open? Patrick was just being stubborn, he’d enjoy himself once they were there. 

And then - it was such a small thing, really, but so irritating - he used to drink these horrible smelling yerba mate teas every morning, and they took ages to make. What was so bad about regular old coffee anyways? She reasoned that she was simply doing him a favor. One little rumor and his apartment smelled of freshly ground beans instead of that disgusting tea _and_ she had given him back at least ten minutes of his morning. Really, he would’ve thanked her if he knew.

But things fell apart, as they usually did. There was the Big Fight, followed by the awful green suit he wanted to wear to her premiere party, followed by an even Bigger Fight where he accused her of doing it, of rumoring him to be compliant, and she had laughed right in his face and called him crazy and stomped out of his apartment, slamming the door behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.

(The next morning she came back and rumored the fight away. He would forgive her, if he knew how much she was doing for him, for them. She was sure of it).

So by the time Allison sat in her wedding gown, staring at the sparkling diamond on her ring finger, she realized that she was the only person to blame for her unhappiness.

_You don’t get it both ways_ , she chided herself as she forced her biggest, shiniest smile and glided down the sandy aisle, the sea breeze tossing her loose, golden curls behind her bare shoulders. _You can’t want something and then hate yourself for getting it. Grow up._

They married in a small, private ceremony on the beach of a remote island in the Pacific. “‘ _Romantic and intimate_ ,’” the magazines had called it. “‘ _Just the bride, the groom and handful of close friends to share in the happy day_.’”

Happy day was a bit of an overstatement. Patrick had been glum about the whole, tiny affair, having wanted a much bigger ceremony back in the states so that his entire family could attend. But a private, beach wedding on the other side of the country had been a deliberate choice - the perfect excuse not to invite the Hargreeves clan, and at the end of the day, Allison’s wants superseded Patrick’s. 

Not a single one of her siblings was invited to the ceremony, nor did they receive the wedding announcement she and Patrick had thoughtfully chosen from the printer. Just a postcard from her honeymoon with a hastily scribbled _Wish You Were Here! XOXO_ on the back, signed with her new surname.

When they returned to Los Angeles as husband and wife, Allison’s personal voicemail machine remained empty for days. She rushed to the mailbox every afternoon for weeks, only to slouch back inside with a small frown, holding nothing but magazines, spam mail and best wishes from Patrick’s friends and family.

“Nothing ever makes you happy, does it?” He asked her when her sour mood became too much to handle. “You were upset about the prospect of inviting your family to the wedding, and now you’re mad they haven’t reached out to congratulate you?”

“How hard is it to get a stupid card from the pharmacy and drop it in the mail?” Allison had groused. “And congratulate _us_.”

“Allie, I hate to say it,” Patrick began, which she knew was such a lie because it was written all over his face how much he loved saying it, “but you have no one but yourself to blame here.”

The irony wouldn’t catchup to Allison for another few years. Patrick would use the exact same line against her when he kicked her out of her own home, when he filed for divorce, when he smeared her name with the press, when he won custody of their daughter.

Patrick’s cruelty in the divorce may have shocked some, but not Allison. Maybe that’s why she had loved him like she did; he was far from faultless, but at least he had never let her forget her own. In public, they were loving and doting, a true power couple. But at home they could barely speak without insulting each other. If she had been another woman, their marriage wouldn’t have lasted a year. But on some level, Allison knew she deserved every barb thrown her way, so she had stayed until he forced her to leave.

It stood to reason that this was why she could never be happy, not truly - she just didn’t deserve it. She had spent the entirety of her life right up until her thirties getting everything she wanted exactly how she wanted, had rumored the smaller consequences away and hardened her heart to the bigger ones. And now her number was up, karma had come to collect the debt she owed. It had taken Claire, taken her voice, taken her from her family and thrust her into the unknown.

For two full years in Dallas - working long hours on her feet all day, saving pennies to earn her keep, and reconciling the greatest social evils she had ever known, all the while surrounded by a community that had welcomed her and defended her without a second thought - Allison had slowly come to terms with her own truths. She came to understand that she was not a bad person, had not deserved to be treated so unkindly by a man who professed to love her. She was a good person at heart, a kind person, who had just made too many mistakes along the way figuring it out. 

And now back home and road weary from her travels, the scales were rebalancing. The universe had given her back the voice it took and taught her how to use it to fight; had given her back the family she’d shunned and taught her she was worthy of love; had given her back the daughter it had stolen and taught her she was deserving of forgiveness.

But the universe had also given her Ray, whose smile had been like sunlight, radiating warmth and banishing away all the shadows Patrick had left behind on her heart. Ray, whose solid and self-assured presence filled a room with ease, who inspired greatness with just a look, and had seen her for who she was. Who had learned of her past in worst possible ways - her family, her powers - and had not run but held her hand and offered her acceptance.

The cards were stacked against her, the debt she owed too great to keep that goodness by her side. So when the universe had taken Ray back, Allison considered that as her debt paid, the give and take of her life perfectly realigned. And she could live with that, could keep swimming through the many layered heartbreaks and sorrows to stay afloat forever in this sea of contentment with no hope of dry land. 

There was so much to be thankful for here, in this time, finally back home. Allison clung to her family, hung her hat upon her career and her work, distracting herself from what she’d given up to achieve it. As for happy, well she was just fine settling for content. There was no other choice. 

\- - - 

The Hargreeves had been back home for nearly a full year and they hadn’t even once come close to triggering an apocalypse. So, all in all, things seemed to be going okay for them.

“Don’t say that out loud though!” Klaus snapped, waving his hands frantically as if to shoo away Allison’s observation. “You’re going to jinx us!”

It was a blustery day in mid-March and the snow had mostly melted from the ground, although the wind still carried the bite of winter. Allison had asked all of her siblings to meet her at a cafe by the park for a late lunch in order to prepare for Claire’s spring holiday, which she would be spending with them, but only Vanya, Klaus and Diego had showed up. It was understandable - Five was up to his eyebrows with midterms and Luther had been tasked with representing the family’s interests at a committee organized by the city to oversee the parcel and packaging of the old Umbrella Academy estate. Still, their absence was something of a bother, and very little planning for Claire’s arrival - just a week away now - was getting done.

“I wonder where Five would send us if there was another apocalypse,” Vanya mused. “Do you think he could send us back to another century? I’d love to meet Toulouse-Lautrec.”

This drew Klaus’s attention. “You know, I bet he threw really excellent _soirees_ ,” he considered, all worries of jinxing their luck gone. “All those dancer friends? _Ooh la-la_.”

“He also painted stunningly poignant art detailing the private lives of those women - ”

“And drank himself into an early grave.” Klaus lifted his water glass in mock salute. “Art, absinthe and ass. May we all be so lucky.”

“Of course you would only think about getting wasted,” Diego said with an eye roll, sneaking a french fry from Klaus’s plate. “Me? I would never waste an opportunity like that.”

“Not this again,” Allison grumbled into her sandwich.

“But you won’t waste an opportunity to bogart my fries,” Klaus huffed, sliding his plate out of Diego’s reach. “Seriously man, if you wanted some you should’ve ordered your own.”

“You can have some of my carrots if you’re still hungry,” Vanya offered.

Diego waved her away. “I’m good on the rabbit food, thanks Van,” he said. “But really, think of all the good we would do if Five could just focus on honing his powers! We could go back in time and save billions of lives, take down dictators, end wars, free the enslaved, stop the Titanic from leaving port - ”

“Meet Annie Oakley?” Klaus asked, waggling his eyebrows. 

At the perplexed stares from his siblings he sighed and repeated himself, elongating the vowels for emphasis. “ _Aaannieee Oooakleeey_? C’mon, you’re prattling on about your noble and heroic intentions for a better yesteryear when you know, given half the chance, you would jump at the opportunity to shake Annie Oakley’s hand…and maybe smell her hair a little.”

“Damnit, you’re right; I would _love_ to meet Annie Oakley,” Diego admitted, his cheeks red with the embarrassment of being so known. “None of that weird hair smelling stuff, but I’d kill to see her in action. How d’ya think she did all that, huh? She must’ve been like us, had powers and all. There’s no way that a normal person shoots like that. But you know what? I bet I could take her in a head-to-head match.”

“By curving your bullets or hers?” Klaus asked.

“Oh, hers without a doubt,” Diego said. “There’s no way I could take her in a fair shootout. But that’s what I am saying - she _must’ve_ had some powers to do all that.”

Vanya and Allison shared a glance, smiling softly at the exchange. Watching their brothers bantering with such ease, sitting comfortably next to each other like nothing had ever happened between them, was such a nice change from how things had been only a few weeks ago. 

Right around Christmas, they had feared that Diego was reverting to his old ways - stomping around with a chip on his shoulder, mean-mugged and snappish to anyone who dared acknowledge him. The pieces of the story that had been filtered from sibling to sibling before reaching Allison implied that Klaus had somehow insulted Diego’s crazy ex-girlfriend, and he had taken it personally. 

The tension between them had been dangerously close to boiling over, and she knew that at some point Vanya and Luther had been planning to intercede, when Five had come home one evening dripping wet, tight-lipped and shaking. Neither Klaus nor Luther could get a word out of him and were frantically calling Vanya to come by and help when Diego had walked through the front door close to midnight, sporting a broken lip and the beginnings of a black eye. 

As Luther told it, Diego had taken one look at Five and had ushered him back out the door and into his car. The two had gone on a long drive that evening and didn’t return until late the next morning. Neither spoke of what they had discussed, but Five had immediately scheduled an appointment with a therapist specializing in post traumatic stress. In the days following, Diego’s demeanor had softened, even having - as Klaus later described it -a ‘touchingly sweet if not very weird heart-to-heart’ with him. The resentment he had been carrying with him for weeks was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, and although he seemed a touch sadder, it was a marked improvement. 

Since then, life returned to normal, or as normal as it could be for the Hargreeves siblings, which Allison ticked off as another box on her long list of things for which to be grateful. Family drama so rarely ended for them with such a meager whimper. Their last big sibling squabble had ended with the moon being blow to smithereens, not a late lunch with four of them joking and swiping tidbits off each other’s plates. 

The normalcy of the moment was so wholesome, so precious and special to Allison, that she should’ve seen the inevitable meltdown from a mile away.

“D’you really think there were others out there like us?” Klaus asked, thoughtfully munching on one of Vanya’s carrots.

“We know there are,” Allison said. “What did Dad’s journal say? ‘Forty-three children born on the first of October under extraordinary circumstances.’ Lucky for those other thirty-six he was only able to buy the seven of us.”

“But I mean before 1989,” Klaus said. “Like, are we a naturally occurring phenomenon or a flashpoint in history?”

They all paused to mull this over as the waitress came by and to check on them and refill their water glasses. She glanced at Allison with a look of clear recognition, but was smart enough to just offer a polite smile.

“At the Commission, Herbie talked about us like we were like legends,” Diego said as the waitress left, a note of pride in his voice. “So, Annie aside, you gotta figure that we’re one of a kind.”

“At least one of forty-three,” Allison corrected.

“Well, probably more like forty-two,” Klaus sighed meaningfully. “Ben, you know.”

“You’re right, but that’s a good point,” Vanya said, laying her hand gently on Klaus’s arm and sharing a look with him before turning back to the others, her eyes bright and far away. “We don’t know anything about the other thirty-six. Aren’t you at all curious about them? I am…I keep wondering if they’re really like us, if they have powers…and if they do, then how are they managing them without someone like Dad pulling the strings? Do they use their powers at all? Are they even aware that they’re special?”

“I am not so sure I want to find out, to be honest,” Allison said, sipping her coffee. “The last time we ran into someone like us who wasn’t from the Academy it didn’t exactly go well.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The four of them had somehow swam out too far without realizing a riptide was waiting for them. Diego’s voice was quiet, pleasant even, but Vanya and Klaus exchanged quick panicked looks, as if they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

But Allison was no so easily cowed by the mere threat of her brother’s anger and breezed right on past his trigger points. “Lila,” she said as though it were obvious. “She nearly killed me in Dallas. If the rest of the other ones are anything like her then I don’t have any interest in meeting them, at least not until I know what I’m up against.”

“Which is why we should find them,” Vanya began again quickly. “At least to know what, or who else is out there. I’m sure Dad kept notes somewhere that could help us figure out where to start - ” 

“Wait, what are you talking about, Allison?” Diego asked, cutting Vanya off mid-sentence. “She barely laid a finger on you.”

“No, she got in a few good hits before she rumored me and I stopped breathing,” Allison said. “Honestly? Having powers makes people dangerous. The other thirty-six could be well-adjusted people, or they could lunatic killers like Lila. I’d just rather not find out if we don’t have to.”

“Lila’s not a lunatic,” Diego said with a frown. “And you’re not being fair, you know she was only doing all that because the Handler forced her to.”

“Oh really?” Allison scoffed. “That’s funny, I don’t remember seeing the Handler anywhere near the house when Lila and I fought. Feels like she decided to do that one all on her own.”

Diego’s face darkened. “She didn’t have a choice.” 

“Everyone has a choice,” Allison shot back. “And she made hers; this isn’t up for debate, and you don’t need to keep making excuses for her.” 

“I’m not making excuses for anyone!” he said. “You’re just being a drama queen, and it’s pissing me off.”

“Guys, I think - ” Vanya began, but Allison interrupted, holding her finger up to shush her, eyes gleaming.

Bickering was familiar territory for the two of them; Diego and Allison had been raised to be the most vicious of the family, and they had been each other’s favorite targets throughout their childhood. Their hot-headed energies met in constant clashes, their jealousies and bitterness driving them at each other until they inevitably crashed. 

Allison knew Diego resented her natural talent, the favoritism Sir Reginald showed her above them all, even his own Number One. But for her part, Allison hadn’t been able to stomach the weakness in Diego their father’s cruelty laid bare - he was too emotional and impulsive, too heart-heavy for someone so easily provoked. Oh sure, Vanya had been an easy target for Allison’s bullying, but she rarely took the bait of a challenge, and it was no fun fighting with someone who wouldn’t defend themself. And Klaus and Ben together had been like teflon, no insults ever struck them down for long. But Diego was easy - when she’d push him, he’d push back.

In the years since she had left home, Allison had come to understand how Sir Reginald had encouraged their hatred of each other, widening the divide between them so that Diego would be forced to jump or fall by his own merits. It enraged her to know that, once again, she had simply been used as a pawn to hurt one of her siblings, another proof point that Sir Reginald only cared enough to wield her as a weapon.

But it was one thing to recognize, another entirely to forgo her basest impulse to fight. And after so many months of pleasant, peaceful buoyancy in her new life, there was something delicious about sinking back into old ways, awakening the sleeping dragon of resentment and pointing it towards the kill.

“Oh, _I’m_ being a drama queen?” Allison asked in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? Diego I hate to break it to you, but Lila’s a crazy person - she tried to kill us all, more than _once,_ actually. And didn’t also she drug and kidnap you at one point?” 

“That was a…misunderstanding.”

“And I’m sure it was another ‘misunderstanding’ when she showed up at your gym and beat the shit out of you too, right?” Allison asked, frustrated. 

Diego rounded on Klaus. “C’mon dude, you told her?”

“You had a black eye and a busted lip!” Klaus sputtered, hands raised in defense. “What was I supposed to do? We were all really worried!”

“He’s not wrong, Diego,” Vanya agreed, face pale and voice small, looking for all the world like she wanted nothing more than to simply melt into her seat and disappear from their table. “We were really worried.”

“I come home with injuries all the time,” Diego said, his tone exasperated. “That’s part of the deal when you’re out every night protecting this city -”

“Come off it, Batman,” Allison snapped, rolling her eyes. “We all know your vigilante days are over. When’s the last time you even put on that ridiculous mask - six months ago now? Seven? You may be going a little soft there, Number Two.”

“Don’t call me that,” Diego said dangerously. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to reign in his temper. “Fine, maybe my night’s watchman days are on a brief hiatus right now, but this is not about that, this is about Lila - ”

“You’re ex, the runaway time assassin with mommy-issues?” Allison interjected.

“Oh my _god_! Why are you still attacking her?”

“Why are you still defending her? After everything she did!”

“You wouldn’t understand!” Diego snapped. “And you’re just going to hate on her no matter what I say, so what’s the point?”

People at other tables were turning to stare, but Allison was too deep in to turn back now. It felt so good to fight again, to go on autopilot and let all the anger she had been holding back break free and use her like a puppet. The Rumor had her now, and she was all teeth and claws.

“God, you are so pathetic sometimes,” Allison laughed. “She broke up with you _and_ broke open you’re face, but you’re still defending her honor like some knight-errant! How desperate are you? You get laid once and suddenly you’re a lovesick puppy for some psychopath who’s made it clear you aren’t worth her time? Newsflash Diego! Lila didn’t stay in Dallas, has apparently shown up _plenty_ since we’ve been back, but she _still isn’t here_ , is she? You’re all twisted up about someone who doesn’t even want you and it’s pitiful.”

“Allison!” Vanya’s cry was the shrill ringing of a flag on the field.

Diego was staring at her like she had slapped him, the color draining from his face. With a jolt, Allison realized she’d gone too far, picked too hard at a tender point he’d left unguarded. And instead of responding with vitriol and venom, he was staring at her like he used to stare at Sir Reginald, pained and sad. Even Vanya and Klaus shrank way from her at the outburst, both turning towards their brother with comfort.

“Shit, Diego, I-I’m so sorry,” Allison said, reaching across the table for him, but he recoiled. “I didn’t mean - ”

“Yes you did,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “And you’re right. Lila didn’t want to stay, doesn’t want anything to do with me. I guess it is pathetic to still care about someone who’s made it clear they don’t care about me at all. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?”

“That’s not what I wanted - ” Allison stopped, biting her lip. She felt dizzy as all the words she’d used as slings and arrows against her brother caught up with her. All of her siblings were looking at her now like they had as children - like she was the bully sent by their father to torment them.

“I should go,” she said, standing from the table abruptly and, when no one moved to stop her, digging around her purse for her wallet and throwing down a few bills. “I’ll…I’ll call you later. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.”

She fled the cafe, head held high, chin quivering only slightly. The wind outside had picked up, the icy gusts burning the exposed skin of her cheeks. She told herself it was to blame for the tears blurring her vision, but she had no such explanation for the sick ache in the pit of her stomach. 

Swallowing reflexively to alleviate the tightness in her throat, Allison walked the ten blocks home, head down so that no passing strangers could see the guilt on her face. The burning cold in her fingers and toes was punishing, but the pain was good, it felt right. She deserved it. 

\- - -

Anger, Allison had learned over the years, was like a tea light; a short fuse that burned out quickly, all flash and show with no real heat to keep you warm. But sadness could last forever, an ocean as deep as it was wide and seemingly impossible to overcome. 

If Diego had been angry with her following their argument at the cafe that would’ve been one thing, annoying but manageable. But this funk he had apparently fallen into, this weaponized sadness aimed just at her, was new territory for them both and Allison had no idea how to navigate it. 

It should have appeased the churning guilt in her stomach to know that neither Vanya nor Klaus held that disastrous lunch against her whatsoever; Vanya had called the night after it happened and spoke with her at length, using a lot of the vocabulary she had picked from years of therapy. And Klaus had shown up at her theater later that week, holding two coffees and a croissant like nothing had happened. But days passed and Diego still wouldn’t return any of her phone calls.

His silence would’ve been more worrying if she wasn’t being constantly reassured by their other siblings that he seemed to doing fine, all things considered; no pouting or angry outbursts, went to work and came home at reasonable hours. 

“Then why won’t he talk to me?” Allison griped.

“Because you hurt his feelings,” Luther said as gently as he could, his voice muffled through the phone. “So you’re going to have to give him some time. It’ll be fine - you know how Diego is. He’ll come around sooner or later.”

But Allison didn’t have time to sit and wait for this promised ‘later’ - Claire was finally back home with her, and balancing motherhood with the demands of her job was hard enough, let alone juggling the competing needs of her siblings. If Diego wanted to brood over a stupid disagreement, fine. At least it was one less person she had to worry about for the time being.

Still, Allison would lie awake at night, shame eating her up inside. It didn’t seem fair - she and her brothers had gotten into much worse fights as teenagers, said crueler things before, but apologizing had usually been enough to soothe tempers. Why were things so much more complicated as adults? She _had_ said sorry, so why did she still feel so guilty?

At one point, deep in the middle of the night and after hours of restless tossing and turning, Allison considered rumoring Diego - no one would have to know, and everything would go back to how it was before. But how to even phrase it in a way that would fix everything? “I heard a rumor you stopped being sad at me?” or “I heard a rumor that you got over your stupid ex-girlfriend and moved on”? Nothing sounded right, and even if they had, simply considering the possibilities made her feel worse.

Although Claire was a blessed distraction from Allison’s turmoil, her presence made things that much more complicated. How was she supposed to explain to a six-year-old why her Uncle Diego wasn’t joining their big family welcome dinner? Or that he wasn’t going to take her to the park like he promised because he was mad at Mommy? 

“But Mommy, you promised we’d go play at the park,” Claire pouted. “Uncle Diego said he was gonna teach me to throw a baseball curvy.”

Of course, Diego was the one who got upset and broke a promise to his niece but somehow Allison was the bad guy. Typical.She ended up taking Claire to the park herself - although she couldn’t teach her how to throw a ball, she promised that they could play her favorite game, _The Umbrella Academy and the Dinosaur Heist_. 

But the park, Allison later decided, had probably been a bad idea. The snow was all gone by this point, but the sky was a dismal grey that promised rain. Apparently in the year or so since she’d had left Los Angeles, Claire and Patrick had changed the rules of the game - a game Allison had invented for her daughter from her own stories of the Umbrella Academy - and now she wasn’t playing it right. Claire’s frustration was palpable, but the more Allison tried to fix it, the worse she made it.

“I don’t want to play with you anymore,” Claire finally announced. “Daddy does The Horror’s voice better, anyways.”

_Be grateful that your daughter is here playing with you, with no court supervision,_ Allison reminded herself as she took a deep breath and forced a smile. _Your daughter who you love, and who does not understand why that is a mean thing to say._

“Well, why don’t we play something else?” Allison asked as cheerfully as she could. She’d find a way to get back at Patrick for this later. “Why don’t we play hide-and-seek?”

Claire brightened up immediately. “Okay, but I wanna hide first!” She ran for the nearby jungle gym, her hot pink coat making her stand out sharply against the brown and black thicket of trees just behind the swing set.

Allison kept her face towards Claire’s receding figure but held her hand loosely in front of her eyes as she began counting down from sixty as loudly as she could. The park was mostly empty - very few were up to braving the weather, apparently - so no one else was around to witness the flash of blue light from the trees. And when Allison finally finished counting and lowered her hand, an eerie silence had descended around the grassy field, putting her instantly on edge.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Allison shouted, but only the swings answered, creaking ominously in the harsh breeze. 

Claire was not hiding in the slide, nor under the jungle gym cave, nor in any of it’s neon-yellow tubes. She was not hiding in the bushes, nor behind the fence that separated the play zone from the larger wild of the park. Allison stopped her searching in front of the thicket of trees, hesitating.

“Claire?” she called. The wind howled in response, carrying with it a few freezing droplets of rain.

“Claire!” More urgent this time. “Claire it’s starting to rain, we have to go! Come back here, please!”

The creeping edges of panic seizing her lungs unwound as Claire came charging towards her from the trees, breathless and red-faced from exertion.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Claire yelled as she collided with Allison’s legs, grasping at the fabric of her pants. “Mommy I found an alien in the woods!”

“An alien?” Allison asked. “Claire, it’s starting to rain, we can play _Spaceboy and the Moon Attack_ another time - ”

“No, Mommy, I found an actual alien, no playing!” Claire shouted, pulling at Allison’s hand. “There was a big blue light and she fell out of the sky! She crash landed and got hurt, but she has a suitcase so I think she’s here on vacation! Mommy, you have to come see!”

The rain was starting to fall in earnest, but Allison’s hackles were raised, her grip tightening on Claire’s hands. “Okay Claire, I’ll come see. But this is now a certified Umbrella Academy mission, got it? So if I say run, you run and you don’t stop until you find someone who can help. Do I make myself clear, Number Eight?”

Claire nodded, her face very serious, and she led them down a winding path through the trees. Allison’s heart beating a war drum in her chest, and she felt her body awakening, adrenaline coursing through her stomach and preparing her for whatever was waiting in the woods. 

But, as she cleared through the bramble and pushed the low hanging branches out of the way, there was no one waiting - just a figure that lay crumpled on the ground, a briefcase flung far from her grip. If it wasn’t for the way she flinched as rain drops hit her, she could’ve passed for a corpse.

Allison pulled Claire to a stop, motioning for her to stay behind a nearby tree, before walking forward and calling down to the figure softly. “Lila?” 

Her body twisted in the mud, turning towards Allison’s voice and crying out loudly with the movement. Her eyes were wild and dark, and she scrambled away towards the briefcase, but Allison jumped in front of her, planting herself between Lila and her escape. Shrieking in frustration, Lila fell backwards, landing flat on her back with a pained groan. She clawed her way towards the nearest tree and pulled herself upright, legs splayed out in front of her, chest heaving the effort.

“Oh my god, Lila…what happened to you?”

Even sitting up and shivering violently, Lila still looked like a corpse. Her hair was matted and greasy, her skin tinged grey, and everywhere Allison looked she saw blood; splashed across her clothes, marring her skin, dried in her hairline. A deep cut along her cheekbone was turning yellow, the broken veins around it blue and purple, swelling her eye nearly shut. A gash ran down one side of her mouth, the blood along the split in her lips dried black. She wore only a thin black undershirt and her bare arms were lined of bruises and contusions, her wrists encircled with chafed, raw skin. 

“Me? Just got back from holiday,” Lila groaned. She cracked open her good eye and fixed Allison with a fever-bright stare. “Went to a spa, can’t you tell?”

“Oh Lila, who did this to you?” Allison asked, daring to move closer, her stomach cold with fear. 

“Didn’t mean to come ’ere,” Lila mumbled, closing her eyes and tipping her head back against the tree. “Jus’ want my mum…can’ figure which one though…went t’find a mum an’ found you…”

“Lila, who did this?” Allison repeated. Her voice shook. “Are they going to be looking for you?”

“N’one looks for me,” Lila sighed. “N’one is comin’…can’ find me here, changed the timeline, can’ go back now though…” Her head dropped to her chest like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

“Lila? Lila I need you to stay awake, okay?” Allison said, reaching out. Lila didn’t recoil when she laid a gentle hand against her arm, but opened her eyes and seemed almost startled to see Allison there.

“Claire,” she said, sounding out all the consonants in her name. “You’re Claire’s mum. Klaus was s-scared to meet her…you mus’ be very strict…but you mus’ love ‘er…mum’s should love their kids…”

She was talking nonsense now, whispering to herself and shaking her head back and forth. The skin of her forehead was hot and clammy beneath Allison’s palm.

“Mommy?” Claire’s voice was high and tight as she leaned forward from her hiding place, her face pinched and upset. “Is the alien dying?”

“No, it’s alright, she’s not dying,” Allison said as calmly as she could. “But she needs help.”

“No hospitals,” Lila gasped suddenly, eyes shooting open, grabbing Allison’s arm. “No hospitals. No, no, no, ask too many questions…”

“No hospitals,” Allison agreed. “But we can’t stay here, okay? It’s raining and we need to go somewhere safe.” 

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise,” Lila insisted, struggling to hold up a hand, her little finger extended. “The pinkiest.”

Allison hesitated only a moment, her mind snagging on the phrase, before touching her finger to Lila’s. 

“Claire? I need you to help me with...with the alien,” Allison said, shucking her long coat quickly. To Lila she said, “We’re going to put this coat on now, okay? And then we’re going to get in a cab and go back to my home so I can get you help, but I need you to work with us, alright?”

Lila nodded, eyes closed, face twisted in pain. While Claire helped her get Lila’s arms through the coat sleeves - a difficult feat as her left wrist was either broken or sprained - Allison’s mind was a million miles away. 

In her memory, she saw a flash of white against a the dark walls of Sir Reginald’s office, heard the sound of porcelain shattering as it hit the floor.

_“Oh no, oh shit,”_ she’d hissed, jumping down from the bookcase she’d been climbing up, cursing her big stupid feet and staring at the broken shards in horror. _“Dad’s going to kill me! Oh no, oh shit, what am I going to do?”_

_“It was an accident,”_ Luther had said, his voice cracking a little on the last word, whether from puberty or fear was anyone’s guess. _“We’ll…we’ll tell him the truth, that we wanted to get Ben’s book back for him, and just…hope for the best.”_

_“Hope for the best? Don’t be a moron, Dad’s going to be pissed. We’re fucked,”_ Diego had snapped.

Allison remembered how her eyes had welled with tears, the feeling of her throat tightening as she imagined what punishments lay in store for her. _“What am I going to do?”_ she’d whimpered.

Diego had turned towards her then, face set. _“You are going to go back to your room and pretend like you weren’t here,”_ he said. _“Luther and I will take the fall for this, okay? It was my stupid idea anyways and Luther broke the lock. He doesn’t have to know you were involved.”_

_“You promise?”_ Allison had whispered.

Diego had held up his hand, pinky out. _“I pinky promise.”_

_“The pinkest?”_

_“What? Yes, Allison, the pinkest,”_ he’d said. “ _Now would you go before Dad sees you?”_

Allison shook her head hard, dislodging the memory as she wound her arm around Lila’s waist and gently lifted her to standing. Lila insisted on carrying the briefcase herself, and the big, cumbersome thing made stumbling out of the trees towards the road difficult but not impossible, with Claire holding back the branches for them as they passed. 

The cabbie she hailed took one look at Lila’s broken face and demanded Allison pay an extra fee “for having to clean up the blood when you’s guys is gone.” She shot him her most menacing look but agreed, so long as he could get them home in ten minutes. He got them there in fifteen, still demanded the extra cash, and left Allison, Claire and Lila on the front stoop to navigate the stairs inside themselves. The rain fell in buckets around them, washing away the trails of blood Lila’s stumbling feet scraped along the ground.

\- - -

“Mommy, are we really keeping the alien?” Claire asked in a loud whisper, clutching the doorframe and craning her neck to get a better look into the guest bedroom.

“I swear, if she calls me an alien one more time I am going to pack her up and send her to boarding school myself,” Lila snapped. “What are you even doing here, pipsqueak? Don’t you have a mall to bop around in or something?”

“Claire, we’ve been over this - Lila is not an alien, and it is past your bedtime,” Allison said, shooing her back into her own bedroom and closing the door firmly behind her. “And I would appreciate it if you didn’t threaten my daughter.”

“She started it,” Lila sulked. “Yelled horrible things at me through the door when you were out. Didn’t you teach her potty mouths are unladylike? Or have you not been around long enough to impart any life lessons?”

Allison glared at Lila as she pulled up a chair to the side of her bed. “You better be careful about who you’re picking on,” she said, pulling a bottle from the pharmacy bag and waving it threateningly in front of her face. “I can be very gentle with the peroxide, or I can be rough. Your choice.”

“Kinky,” Lila grinned, settling back into the pillows. “I’ll be good, I promise. And just between us, my safe word is _schmekel_.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Allison asked as she gently unwound the gauze from Lila’s wrists, inspecting the broken skin before dabbing at it with an antiseptic-moistened cotton ball. 

They had managed to make it all the way through the front door of Allison’s penthouse before Lila had collapsed, shivering and sweating, delirious with a fever. Claire had started bawling in fear, and the compounding anxieties and chaos of the moment had made the words spring to her lips, “I heard…” 

But no, Allison didn’t need The Rumor to fix this.

Instead, she had propped Lila against the door and held her daughter, the weight of her little body against hers calming, a touchstone for her as she struggled to center her erratic thoughts. When the tears had tried and breathing had evened out, they turned their attention back to the time traveling assassin passed out cold in their front hall. 

While Claire wasn’t much help as Allison half-dragged, half-carried Lila to the vacant guest bed, but she was eager to assist where she could - collecting Lila’s soiled clothing that Allison carefully cut away, choosing new pajamas for her to wear, fetching the first-aid kit, filling up a large bowl with warm water and delivering it to her bedside with washcloths, only spilling a little on the rug.

All the Hargreeves knew the rudimentary basics of battlefield first-aid, although the larger injuries had always been saved for Grace’s expertly programed hands, but Allison had fallen out of the practice of being battle ready. Her first-aid kit was laughably sparse, only containing a meager travel bottle of peroxide, a handful of bandaids, and a single roll of gauze. It was a small miracle to find that, after the blood and dirt had been wiped away, Lila’s injuries seemed to be largely superficial. Claire had watched anxiously as Allison got to work dousing the deeper cuts with antiseptic and carefully bandaging what she could. 

Then, all they could do was wait. Lila slept fitfully for almost an entire day before her fever broke, waking up long enough for Allison to get her to take a few sips of water and swallow a mouthful of crackers. During these interludes between sleep, Allison checked Lila’s ribs and legs - which seemed as bruised as the rest of her but thankfully not broken - and her left wrist, which was definitely sprained.

“Mommy, is the alien evil?” Claire had asked as Lila lay sleeping.

There didn’t seem to be any point in lying to her or sugarcoating the truth. “I don’t think she’s an alien, and she’s probably not evil, but she did do some bad things,” Allison said eventually. “And she hurt some people in the process, me and your uncles and Aunt Vanya included. So I don’t want you in here alone with her, okay?”

“But if she’s bad, why is she here?” Claire asked. “Why are we helping her?”

Allison didn’t know how to answer that one. The truth was, she wasn’t even sure what had compelled her to bring Lila under her roof. She still believed this woman was dangerous, a lethal threat to her and everyone she loved. But lying there in the woods, she hadn’t seemed like a threat, she had just seemed…broken. And Allison - who so recently knew what it was like to land somewhere new, disoriented, scared and broken in the most horrifying way possible - could only reach out and pay forward the kindness that had been shown to her in Dallas. For once in her life, she was helpless against her better impulses. And so, Lila would stay, at least for now.

“These are already starting to look better,” Allison said as she re-wrapped Lila’s wrists, handing her a new brace for the left one.

“I’ve always been a fast healer,” Lila said, velcroing the straps with a small grimace of discomfort. “Probably going to have a few good scars though. Can’t be helped.”

The swelling around her eye had gone down and some of the color had returned to her cheeks. As she seemed to be comfortably on the mend, Allison finally asked the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for days. “So, are you ready to tell me what happened?” 

“I am ready for dinner,” Lila said, evading the question with a shrug. “Man cannot live on saltines alone.” Her stomach gave an audible grumble to emphasize her point.

“I think we can definitely make dinner happen,” Allison conceded. She supported Lila’s arms as she disentangled her legs from the sheets and stood slowly on wobbly legs. 

“What did you do with my clothes?” Lila asked, stopping suddenly before a full-length mirror, staring at her reflection with disgust. “And why did you have to put me in pink?”

“I’ll have you know Claire gifted me those pajamas for Christmas and they are very comfortable, so you’re welcome,” Allison huffed. “As for your clothes, I had to cut them off of you. Why, did a ratty black t-shirt covered in blood hold any sentimental value to you?”

Lila frowned. “Was I wearing a coat?” When Allison shook her head, she groaned. “Damnit, I really liked that coat.” 

“Well, it’s not like you need one now, so let’s worry about it tomorrow,” Allison said, steering Lila towards the kitchen. “And please be sure to keep your opinions to yourself about all the pink around Claire - she will be very upset if you tell her you don’t like the pajama set she chose. I will find you something else to wear if it bothers you so much.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Lila grumbled.

Allison directed Lila to sit on one of the bar stools at the counter and began rummaging through her cabinets. 

“What do you think about pancakes and eggs?” Allison asked. 

“I think those are definitely two types of food,” Lila replied drily.

Allison peaked out from the cabinet in time to see the shit-eating grin wipe clean from her face. “Funny,” she said with a scrunch of her nose before unearthing a bottle from the back. “The beauty with breakfast for dinner, I have learned, is that everything pairs beautifully whiskey.” 

She poured them both small cups, slid one to Lila, and pulled out the bowls and ingredients for the batter. It was nearly ten o’clock, and the night sky outside that wa visible from skylights and windows was a deep, blue black, with no moon and no stars to breakup the darkness. The soft glow of the kitchen lights insulated them like a cocoon, and the quietness between them was strangely comfortable.

“So,” Allison began as she poured out some batter onto a hot pan with a satisfying sizzle. “Can we try this again? Can you tell me what happened to you?”

Lila made a face and took a sip of her whiskey, but did not answer.

“What about where you’ve been?” Allison said, switching tactics. “When you left the barn in Dallas, where did you go?”

The only sound was the steady hum of the flame on the burner. Allison flipped the pancake with a practiced flick of her wrist and Lila’s eyes widened with interest.

“Well, that’s a cool trick,” she said. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Uh-uh,” Allison said. “I’m asking the questions right now.”

Lila snorted, brows furrowed with agitation. “You and your brother are a right pair, you know that?” she scoffed. “All you ever do is nag at me. ‘Where have you been, Lila?’ and ‘why are you here, Lila?’ and ‘what do you want, Lila?’ I feel like I’m being interrogated and I’m bloody sick of it.”

Allison turned back to the pan, mulling this over as she inspected the first pancake and, deeming it acceptable, tossed it into the trash before pouring a new one.

“Oy, that was a good looking one, what d’ya throw it out for?” Lila asked, confused.

“How about this,” Allison offered. “Question for question. You ask me one, I ask you one. Think of it as getting to know one another, not as an interrogation.”

Lila thought this over, dragging her fingertip along the rim of her cup. “Alright, deal,” she said finally. “But I want veto power.”

“One.”

“Three,” she countered.

“Let’s compromise and call it two,” Allison said.

“I can live with that,” Lila said with a nod. 

“Good,” Allison said. She slid the pancake onto a plate and poured a new batch, now two at a time. “And to answer your first question; my mom taught me that you always throw away the first pancake. It’s just there to make sure the batter’s not too thick.”

“Wasn’t your mum a robot?”

“She was, but she was a great cook,” Allison said, smiling a little at the memory of Grace. “And that’s two, by the way.”

Lila swore under her breath. “Well, go on then,” she huffed. “Ask away.”

“Same as before - who hurt you? Where did you go?” Allison asked.

“I’m vetoing both of those,” Lila said. “And since you cheated and asked two at once I’m only using one veto and you can’t tell me otherwise. Try again.”

The logic wasn’t sound, but Allison wasn’t about to argue. She turned back to the stovetop, thinking carefully through her litany of other questions. 

“Were you trying to kill me in Dallas?” she asked finally, her curiosity winning out against her better judgement. She kept her eyes trained on the pancakes, but did not miss how Lila stiffened in her peripheral vision.

“Yes, I was aiming to kill you all,” she said softly. She clearly had more to say and Allison remained silent until Lila began again, with great difficulty. “You have to understand, I was…so angry at the time…and my mum directed my anger towards you and your siblings. I didn’t understand then how much she was manipulating me. I am sorry, if that means anything at all. I am glad you’re not dead.”

“That makes two of us,” Allison said, offering her a small smile. She divided the pancakes between two plates, pulling out butter and syrup and placing them on the counter. Gesturing for Lila to start eating, she wiped down the pan and set it back on the burner, cracking eggs into a small bowl and whisking in some milk.

“Diego told me your daughter was taken away from you,” Lila said, smearing globs of butter onto her food. “So how is she here? Did you, you know - ” she waved her fork and knife in the air emphatically - “rumor your ex into letting her go?” 

“Nope, just good old fashion begging and pleading with the courts,” Allison said. She poured the eggy mixture into the pan, swirling it around.

“Seems like a lot of effort when you literally have the power to get whatever you want,” Lila said. “If I had could do that…”

“You’d what, rule the world?” Allison chuckled. “Believe me, getting everything you want without consequence is not all it’s cracked up to be. No, I lost Claire once because of my powers, I won’t do that again.”

“What bullshit!” Lila laughed. “Did Daddy teach you to hate yourself this much? What’s wrong with getting what you want, hm? No one could ever tell you ‘no,’ you could have everything you ever dreamed of, screw the consequences! Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

“Let me tell you a secret, Lila,” Allison said. “At some point, growing up means having to come to terms with the fact that happiness comes at a cost. I have lived too long getting everything I wanted, and it just made me doubt that anything I had was real. It made me bitter and hateful, and I started hurting the people I loved the most just to feel something. Even with powers - _especially_ with powers - there are always consequences. Being an adult means accepting them for what they are and learning to be content with what you have.”

Lila was silent as she contemplated this, avoiding Allison’s eyes. “You’re a lot less fun than your brothers,” she said quietly. “Or your sister.”

“So I’ve heard,” Allison agreed as she began pulling and pushing the egg mixture in the pan. “And that was more than one, again.”

Lila rolled her eyes but gestured grandly for Allison to go. “I know you already vetoed me asking who hurt you, but is there any chance they could be coming after you?” she asked. “I have to know if Claire is in danger.”

“Claire is not in any danger from them, or from me for the matter,” Lila said, choosing her words carefully. “The people who hurt me…let’s just say it will take more than a briefcase for them to find me. Is that enough?”

“For now, I suppose,” Allison said.

“Why are you so protective over Claire, anyways? She seems like she can handle herself. ‘Don’t threaten my daughter,’” Lila mimicked in a bad accent. “‘Don’t tell her you hate pink, don’t call her pipsqueak, don’t bleed all over her.’”

“I am protective over her because I am her mother,” Allison said, ignoring Lila’s jab. “That’s just what we do.”

Lila’s face darkened and she glowered at her plate, skewering a piece of food on her fork a little too aggressively, the prongs scraping loudly. “Not all of you,” she said. “My mum wasn’t like that at all. You know she used to shoot at me during training? Live bullets and everything. I once asked her what would happen if she hit me and she just shrugged and said that then I would know to be faster next time. Can you believe that?”

“Actually? I can,” Allison said with a grimace. “My dad would say the same stuff to us all the time. ‘Injuries are just proof that you are incapable of defending yourselves, children. Only the weak have battle scars.’”

“Sounds like a real prick,” Lila said. 

“Oh, he was,” Allison agreed. She eyed Lila, hesitating only a little before asking her next question. “And your mom? Was she really such a bitch?”

“Yes, she was,” Lila said with a sad grin. “And it was okay that she was, you know. Taught me to be strong, how to fight, to look after myself. I used to think all that meant she loved me…Still not so sure that it didn’t.”

“Is that where you went? To find her?”

Lila’s face shuttered. “That’s two questions,” she said accusingly. “And I am vetoing that last one. It’s my turn.”

Allison sighed and nodded, taking the eggs off of the flame and spooning a portion onto Lila’s half-empty plate.

“Have you told Diego I’m here?” she asked, her voice still hard.

“No, I haven’t told anyone that you’re here,” Allison answered. “I told my siblings that Claire caught a bad cold and that we’d see them in a few days when she’s feeling better.”

She turned off the burner and leaned over the counter, pulling her plate towards her and pouring syrup over both the eggs and pancakes, mixing them together before digging in.

“That is disgusting,” Lila observed.

“This is efficient,” Allison retorted. “‘You must eat quickly and efficiently, children, for time in this dark world is precious, and proper fuel will be the difference between winning a fight and losing a battle. Only supper is to be enjoyed, and only by those who have earned it.’”

“God, you are so annoying,” Lila sneered, but there was not bite to her words. 

“Right back ‘atcha,” Allison grinned, catching herself off guard by how easy Lila was to talk to. She cleared her throat and asked, “did you want me to? Tell Diego that you’re here.”

Lila visibly caved in on herself at the question, hunching her shoulders and pushing her scraps of food back and forth on the plate. “How is he?” she asked in a small voice. “Is he…?”

“Well, he’s pretty pissed at me the moment, truth be told,” Allison sighed. “But other than that he’s been fine, I guess. A little sad, maybe.”

“Sad, right,” Lila repeated.

“I think he’s been really worried about you,” Allison admitted. “He doesn’t usually talk to me about his feelings or whatever, but it’s been pretty obvious - we can all tell.”

But Lila shook her head. “Probably not though, not after our fight.”

“I fight with Diego all time, he always gets over it…eventually,” Allison said, recalling Luther’s phone call with her just the other day. “You know how he is. He’ll come around sooner or later.”

“No, I don’t think he will.”

“Lila, Diego may be an asshole, but he’s a loyal asshole,” Allison said firmly. “He always ends up sticking by the people he loves, even when personally _I_ think sometimes he shouldn’t…” She stopped as Lila started at her words, staring at her with a confused look. 

Something about her expression made Allison pause. She thought back to Diego’s weeks of anger after Klaus had seen Lila, the brittle look on his face after her outburst at the cafe, his quiet admission on the floor of that barn in Dallas, the sad, faraway look that had been haunting his eyes. “Has he never told you that he’s in love with you?” Allison asked.

“I don’t…” Lila stopped, took a deep breath, tried again. “I don’t think…”

“But you’re in love with him,” Allison pressed, not understanding the sudden shift in Lila’s demeanor. “You do love him, don’t you?”

Lila pushed her plate away, face blank and her eyes suddenly glassy. “Veto,” she whispered.

“You’re out of vetoes,” Allison pointed out. 

“Then I don’t want to play this game anymore!” Lila burst, slamming a hand down on the counter, making Allison jump.

Her anger was short-lived and she shook her head as if to banish her temper. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m just tired, I don’t want to answer anymore questions. I want to go back to bed.”

It was clear that Allison had, once again, pushed too far. “Alright,” she said, defeated. “It’s alright. You go on back to bed, I’ll clean up in here.”

Lila nodded, pushing back from the counter and turning to leave. Something in the set of her shoulders set a fissure of worry through the pit of Allison’s stomach, and she dared to ask one more question. “Lila? You will be here in the morning, won’t you? No running?”

“I’ll be here,” Lila said. “I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Allison pushed.

Lila gave her a meek smile. “The pinkiest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Patrick's "transformative" movie from their first date was _The Graduate_. I like a stubbornly optimistic outlook at the ending and I listened to Simon & Garfunkel's _The Sounds of Silence_ a lot while writing this chapter.
> 
> \- Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was a famous, post-impressionist painter made famous from the film/musical _Moulin Rouge!_ Many of his paintings featured the quiet, personal lives of his dancer models. 
> 
> \- Annie Oakley was a famous sharpshooter who toured with _Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show_ , and the title character from the movie/musical _Annie Get Your Gun_. She was such a sure shot that she could extinguish the flame from a candle with just a shot. 
> 
> \- A Knight-errant is a type of Romantic Medieval figure who would travel the countryside looking for opportunities to engage in chivalrous activities; fighting battles to protect the weak, winning the love of ladies, and forming fast bonds of brotherhood with other chivalrous knights.
> 
> \- Slings and arrows, _"To be, or not to be, that is the question/Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer/The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune/Or to take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing end them._ Hamlet Act III scene i
> 
> \- _Schmekel_ is a common Yiddish term for penis.
> 
> \- _"Man shall not live by bread alone."_ Matthew 4:4


	6. Lila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would be worse to leave Diego with only half the truth, Lila decided. Worse to let his mind fill the gaps with darker imaginings. And now that it was half out anyways, the frame carefully pieced together, it would hurt too much to hold back the rest. One way or another, she couldn’t carry this alone any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I split chapter 5 in half, I promised myself this chapter would be a short little interlude. You know, like a liar! Also, I may have mentioned this before, but for the record: I hate time travel as a narrative device. There are too many rules and none of them are real! A nightmare.

\- - -

She awoke at dawn, the weak light of morning filling the room and softly easing her from an uneasy sleep. For a few minutes she lay perfectly still save for the rise and fall of her chest, luxuriating in the ways her body could stretch and take up space atop the queen mattress. Although she was smack dab in the center of town, the noises from the city streets below were muffled this high up, and in her little bubble of grey light, crisp sheets and still air, Lila felt strangely safe.

But safe was not the same thing as happy, nor even as content. With waking came the memories of all she had endured the past few weeks, the terrible guilt of knowing what wreckage lay in her wake, and the humiliation of getting everything so horribly wrong.

She rose slowly from the bed, wincing as her bruised muscles and stiff joints popped and sprang into action, her dry skin pulling sharply at the scabbed wounds that littered her body. The city below her window was already wide awake, even though daylight had yet to touch the pavement. The scurrying figures of people making their morning commutes interwove with the toy-sized buses and cars that zoomed at a steady clip along the streets, lights flashing red and green and white. 

From this high up it was easy to imagine how it would take next to nothing to sweep some of those figures into the paths of oncoming vehicles, a mere flick of the hand to force a collision of city buses. Had she the power it would’ve been effortless, like squashing an ant. Life for these tiny figures below was so tenuous, the line between living and death so thin it was barely there. All it took was one wrong step, one stupid, selfish girl who thought she could fix everything, and lives would be lost, reality altered beyond compare.

She felt a little godlike standing behind the thick window in the clouds, studying the people below with a removed sense of wonder. This, she decided, it what _they_ must’ve felt like before they swooped down on the terrified people below, ensuring the safety of their twisted little timeline. This is what the big-wigs at the Commission must’ve felt like when they handed down kill orders - supreme, superior, removed. _Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds._

It was vastly overrated. 

Lila turned from the scene below and examined the room. As compared to what she had seen of the rest of the apartment, this room seemed half-done and forgotten. There was no art on the walls and it was filled with sparse, mismatched furniture. It struck her as odd - for months the only space she’d had to call her own was that which lived between her ribs and her lungs, and here she was, a patient and a guest in an apartment so large it had its own room whose sole purpose was emptiness.

Only a few months had passed for her since Dallas, since the barn, since the Hargreeves siblings had upended her entire world. There had been no where for her to run after her mum had died, their home and safehouses ironically _un_ safe as she would’ve been a sitting duck for whatever justice was coming her way for the Handler’s crimes. For weeks she had simply skipped around from place to place and time to time, until she wasn’t sure where or when she was. The feeling was disorienting, a bit how she imagined it’d be like to be high out of her mind and underwater.

Diego was her touchstone during those moments. She wished she had kept that stupid bracelet because it would’ve made it so much easier to tether herself to the memories of him. But she had shucked it in a moment of despair, and so she had no choice but to find him when her head felt like it was spinning and her grasp on what was true and real felt nebulous at best. One little jump and she could watch him box at the gym, walk down the street, talk with his siblings. Those moments were enough to assure her that he was safe and back where he belonged, and remind her that she needed to do the same - find a home.

Home, safety, happiness. So easy in theory, much harder to obtain in reality. Her last desperate attempt to secure all three had ended disastrously and left her here, broken and bruised, dressed in a matching pink flannel pajama set, in this quiet and forgotten room in the clouds.

She left the room, carefully avoiding looking directly at the black briefcase that lay innocently under the dresser, and tip-toed down the hall to the kitchen. There was no evidence left of her late-night dinner and conversation with Allison - all surfaces had been wiped clean - but it also meant that whatever warmth she’d found in this space was also gone. 

And any leftovers. Not that cold scrambled eggs and pancakes sounded appealing, but she had survived on worse.

The cabinets were filled with a variety of gluten free snacks, nuts and supplements, but Lila was able to unearth a box of Kellogg’s from the back of the pantry and fixed herself a bowl of cereal before venturing in the direction of where she assumed the living room would be.

This room was much more stylish than the guest bedroom, with floor-to-ceiling windows that took up an entire wall, a massive granite fireplace bracketed by two overflowing bookshelves, a flatscreen above the mantel, and tasteful art hung along the outer walls. The center of the room sank down a level into seating nook, containing two dusty-rose colored armchairs, a gold-and-marble coffee table, and a giant, navy blue couch decorated with blush-pink throw pillows. It would’ve been a very chic room, had toys not been scattered across most of the surfaces. 

Lila pushed a few dolls out of the way as she plopped gracelessly onto the couch. An oversized, lemon-yellow plush llama stood innocently by one of the windows, a faux fur blanket thrown across its back like a saddle, and the sight of it made her smile.

_“Don’t you want to be with us?” Klaus asked. “We could be a whole family Lila, we really could.”_

Family, family, family. These people were obsessed; it always came back to that word with them. For six adults who claimed to have hated each other and lived apart for so long, they were annoyingly codependent, exasperatingly intertwined. It made her stomach twist with jealousy.

She turned the television on low, settling back to watch Saturday morning cartoons, which seemed to come on every day now, not just Saturdays. (Although, truth be told, she had no idea what day of the week it was.) They were bright and colorful and irreverent, and Lila found herself enjoying their distracting mania.

“’S early,” came a small voice from the hallway. Claire stood in the doorframe, rubbing sleep from here eyes with tiny fists, dragging a bedraggled blankie behind her. 

“Well then, go back to bed,” Lila said, but Claire only shook her head.

“Uh-uh,” she yawned, stumbling into the room. Her face brightened instantly when she saw the television. “We’re watching cartoons? Cool!”

Lila was powerless to stop her from climbing onto the couch and settling onto the seat cushion beside her. In all honesty, Claire’s easy acceptance of her presence freaked Lila out a bit. Children were a mystery to her, having been raised separately from other playmates her age, and she had appeared to this child as a bloody specter from a cloud of blue light and smoke. Any normal child should’ve been terrified, but not this little Hargreeves. 

“Can you make me breakfast?” Claire asked after a moment, eyeing the bowl of cereal with interest.

“No, I’m injured,” Lila said, holding up her braced wrist to accentuate her point. “Go make your own.”

“I can’t make my own breakfast, I’m only six-and-three-quarters,” Claire huffed.

Lila raised her eyebrows. “When I was six-and-three-quarters, I already knew how to disassemble an AR-15 rifle in two minutes and thirty-three seconds flat. Surely breakfast can’t be much more difficult than that?”

“You’re weird,” was all Claire said in response.

“You said it,” Lila agreed. She handed Claire her half-full bowl of cereal. “Eat this and shut up, I can’t hear the telly.”

Claire happily accepted the bowl and made herself comfortable, throwing her blankie over both their legs, to which Lila only rolled her eyes and turned the volume up a little louder. Which is how Allison found them a couple hours later, sitting comfortably side-by-side, laughing at some stupid joke from an animated sponge.

“Oh,” Allison said in surprise. “You’re still here.”

“I said I would be,” Lila said with a shrug. 

“I know, I just expected…” Allison shook her head and smiled. “It doesn’t matter. How did you sleep?”

“Mommy, are we gonna see Aunt Vanya or Uncle Luther or Uncle Diego or Uncle Klaus or Uncle Five today?” Claire asked before Lila could respond. “You promised we’d go to the zoo and I wanna see the giraffes.”

“Giraffes are lame,” Lila said.

“Nu-uh!” Claire protested. “They have long necks _and_ spots _and_ big, black tongues! That’s not lame!”

“I don’t know about the zoo,” Allison said uneasily, glancing at Lila. “And I don’t know if it’s a good idea for your aunt and uncles to be here right now…”

Lila felt a her ugly guilt twinge in her breast. She cleared her throat, feigning casualness. 

“I’m not an invalid or a husky with separation anxiety,” she said. “You can leave me here unattended for a few hours, I promise I won’t break anything too valuable. Go see your family and the lame-ass giraffes, I’ll be alright.”

“Please don’t swear in front of Claire,” Allison said in a pained voice as Claire giggled. But she looked at Lila thoughtfully. “You sure you’d be okay? And you’ll be here when we get back?”

“Allison, where would I go?” Lila sighed, gesturing vaguely to her body. “I don’t even have enough energy to stop your toddler from stealing my breakfast. If you go to the zoo I promise I will not run away.”

“Well, then I don’t see any reason why not,” Allison said, though she still sounded less-than convinced. “Claire, let’s eat some actual breakfast and get dressed while I make some calls.”

“I already had actual breakfast Mommy!” Claire said, bouncing off the couch and bounding towards her bedroom. “Lila and me had a bowl of cereal!”

“A nutritious start to any day,” Allison deadpanned, grabbing the bowl in question and heading into the kitchen. “A shared bowl of cereal with a time traveling assassin - a top ten tip from every mommy blog in the known universe. Oh god, what is my life even turning into?”

Lila followed her into the kitchen and watched her press a few buttons on a fancy coffee pot, which instantly filled the room with a hissing and popping, steam curling from the edges of the lid.

“How do you take your coffee?” Allison called to Lila as she bustled to the refrigerator. 

“Uh, cream, if you have it,” she said, sliding into the same bar stool she had occupied only a few hours earlier. “No sugar.”

Allison fixed her a mug before pouring her own - filled with cream, sugar, powdered protein and other unidentifiable health supplements - and took a long sip as she leaned back against the sink with her eyes closed, clearly savoring the taste. 

“Ah, much better,” she sighed. “You know, Lila, about last night - ”

“Heard that one before,” Lila snarked into her mug. “Seriously, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” Allison said, fixing her with a steely look. “But I wanted to let you know that I plan on calling Diego today. I think he deserves to know that you’re here.”

Lila groaned and took a big sip of her drink, focusing on the warmth of it pooling in her belly instead of the erratic skip of her breathing at the mention of his name. 

“That’s between you and him,” she said finally. “I don’t care.”

“But I - ”

“I don’t care,” Lila repeated. “I’m going to go take a shower now. Is there any chance at getting clothes today that aren’t pink?”

“Those bandages aren’t waterproof. Let’s take the gauze off first and I’ll rewrap your wrists before we leave,” Allison said. “As for the pink, I’ll see what I can do.”

\- - - 

He had only been at work for a little over two hours when the phone rang for him.

“Hargreeves!” Sal called from the circulation desk at the front of the gym. “Phone!”

“Bit busy here,” Diego shouted back, ducking as his student’s right hook went too far in and nearly clipped his face. “Take a message?”

“I ain’t your secretary, pretty boy,” Sal snapped back. “You get private calls at work, you answer ‘em!”

Diego shot Sal his middle finger as he jogged over to the phone. “Hello?”

“Diego? It’s me - don’t hang up.” Allison’s voice was low and urgent, the sound of it instantly putting him on edge.

“Damn Allison, I know you’re not great with boundaries, but you can’t call me at work,” Diego groaned. “Listen, when I want to talk _I_ will call _you_ , okay?”

“Will you listen to me?” she snapped. “I am not calling about that…Diego, I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can. Lila is here.”

It took a moment for her words to register.

“What do you mean she’s here?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “At your apartment? Is she…is she threatening you?”

“No, no she’s fine,” Allison said quickly. He heard her sigh. “Not fine, actually. She showed up at the park two days ago…she’s been hurt, really badly. She won’t tell me by who or what happened, but she’s been staying here with me and Claire and I think you should come by and talk to her. She’s in the shower now and Claire and I are leaving for the zoo in a half hour so you better get here soon.”

“Allison, slow down,” Diego said. “You’re going to the zoo? She’s in your shower? What do you mean she’s hurt?”

“Goddamnit Diego, I am going to need you to process this a little faster,” Allison said. “Can you be at my apartment in thirty minutes or not?”

“I...yes.”

“Good. We will see you then.”

How Diego got from the gym to Allison’s apartment’s was a complete mystery to him - one moment he was hanging up the phone, his ears ringing with the shock, the next he was parallel parking in front of Allison’s building which absolutely no memory of driving there.

Diego cut the engine of his car and sat in his seat, hands tensely gripped around the wheel. The last time he had seen Lila he had warned her to stay away from him. He only had himself to blame that she had listened to him so well, but her sudden reappearance after months of silence stung all the same.

“ _I saw Lila.”_

_“Lila, she was here, today - well not_ here _here, but I was out and she found me and we talked- ”_

_“Lila Pitts cornered me on the bus this evening. But, judging by that shiny black eye you’ve got there, I bet you already know that she’s here…or at least was.”_

_“Lila is here.”_

Why did her appearance always carry the weight of an atom bomb, shattering whatever peace he had been able to cobble together in her absence? Why was he almost always the last to know of her arrivals, and what did it mean that she always went to his siblings first and sought him out only as an afterthought?

He realized that he did not have to see her, did not have to leave his car and take the elevator up to Allison’s apartment, did not have to face the two women who had both hurt him so thoroughly in a mere matter of weeks. It was the coward’s option, but it was his to take, and in that moment it seemed all too tempting.

But Allison had said Lila was hurt. And for her to allow Lila into her home - for Lila to even seek out _help_ \- seemed significant enough to make Diego’s stomach cold with worry.

Allison was right, he was going soft. Before Dallas - before apocalypses and Vanya and Eudora and Five and Sir Reginald’s untimely death - Diego had prided himself on his cold shoulder, his hard demeanor. Cutting people from his life when things got too complicated was all he had ever known. He’d supped enough on pain and misery throughout his childhood, why let history repeat itself as an adult when he had the power to stop it?

And as he ruined all his relationships, even the one with Eudora, he knew it was for the best. At the time he convinced himself that at least this way he couldn’t stay hurt for long. And with Eudora, well at least she wouldn’t ever get hurt because of him. 

But keeping her at arm’s length hadn’t saved her in the end. Although Diego knew he wasn’t responsible for her murder, he could not fully absolve himself of the guilt. 

He closed his eyes, his vision turning blue as his memories propelled him back to that dingy motel room, the carpet wet with blood, Eudora prone on the floor and her chest open, splattered red.

_“I was on my way, I was…”_ he had hissed, cupping her face in his palms. _“I was on my way, why didn’t you wait?”_

But Eudora had had no way of knowing Diego was coming for her. After so many years of him lashing out when things became too much between them, how could she have trusted him to have her back?

And now Lila was hurt. Was it because of him - had he pushed another woman he loved so far that she had been beyond his help when she needed it most?

Diego’s mind was made up. He left his car and went inside the building, preparing himself for whatever waited for him at the end of the elevator. However angry she was, whatever her reasons for running time and time again, Diego would not make her feel like she had no where to turn in times of trouble. He would not be the reason she too ended up dead on the floor of a motel room, only minutes away from help.

Allison met him at the front door, ushering him inside with a finger pressed to her lips.

“She’s in the guest bedroom and Claire is tying her shoes,” she explained quietly. “I want to talk to you before you go see her.”

“What happened, Allison?” Diego asked, matching her tone. “How bad is she? Who hurt her? Where did she show up, why are you only just now telling me she’s here?”

“Okay, good this is exactly what I want to discuss,” Allison said, leading him into the living room and pushing him none-too gently to sit on the couch. She sat in the armchair across from him and leveled him with her motherly gaze, which he despised. “Lila has expressed that she feels like you, um, ask her too many questions when she comes to see you, and she doesn’t like feeling like she’s being…interrogated.”

“ _Interrogated_? Are you kidding!?”

“Diego, please,” Allison shushed him. “I am only telling you what she told me. Look, I have no idea what happened to Lila - she will not tell me anything about where she’s been or what happened to her. But I know she’s not going to open up if she doesn’t feel safe, and you _yelling_ at her or bombarding her with questions isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I wasn’t planning on yelling,” Diego sulked.

“I know,” Allison conceded. “I just…I think you need to be patient with her, is all. I think she’s been through a lot.”

Diego nodded, suddenly feeling awkward about receiving advice about Lila from Allison, after all the things she had said about her; the complete one-eighty was a little disarming. 

He cleared his throat. “Look, Allison…about last week - ”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Allison said quickly. “I was wrong about…about everything, honestly. I shouldn’t have said all those things. Can we just move on, please?”

“Yeah, we can,” Diego said, relieved.

It was at that moment that they both heard the doors at the end of the hallway opening, followed by the quick pattering of tiny feet and the slow, even gait of another.

“Allison?” Lila called. “I need a third hand with these wraps, aren’t you supposed to be helping me here?”

Diego jumped to his feet at the sound of her voice, his heart thudding wildly in the pit of his stomach. Lila appeared in the doorway, struggling with lines of gauze that fluttered down from her wrists like garland. Claire came bounding in behind her and, taking one look at Diego, squealing loudly. 

“Uncle Diego, you’re here!”

Claire threw herself at his legs, and even as he bent down to hug his niece he could not tear his eyes away from Lila. 

She wore a pair of loose fitting, black yoga pants and a long-sleeved, heather grey tunic, the shoulders dotted with droplets of water from her long, damp hair. Her face looked terrible; deep cuts lining her sharp cheekbones and slicing down the side of her mouth, the lining under one eye black and blue. Her skin was pale and a light sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead as if the walk down the hall had drained her of energy. 

Lila made no move to come any closer, simply standing in the doorframe, stunned into stillness. Allison looked between the two of them, an amused quirk in her smile. 

“Come here, Lila, let’s get these things bandaged up,” she said, waving Lila over to the other armchair. 

Lila tore her eyes from Diego, stumbling over to where she was directed and offered her arms to Allison, who started quickly twirling the wrappings around her wrists. Diego could see the cracked, scabbed skin peeking out from beneath the white.

“Uncle Diego you missed the park!” Claire was pouting, jutting out her bottom lip. “You said you would teach me to throw and you _didn’t_.”

“I-I know, I’m sorry, Bear,” Diego said hoarsely, pulling his gaze from Lila. “I, uh, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“When? Now?”

“No, Claire we’re going to the zoo now, remember?” Allison called over. “And Uncle Diego isn’t coming with - he needs to stay behind with Lila.”

Lila shot her a murderous glare but kept her lips firmly shut.

“Oh,” Claire said, nodding in understanding. “Uncle Diego, you’re baby-sitting our alien.”

“Alien?”

“I swear to _Christ_ \- ! I warned her, you heard me, I said one more time - !” Lila burst, but Allison silenced her by tightening the wrappings on her wrists with a sharp tug, eliciting a strangled gasp.

“Calm down, E.T., she is a kid and you getting mad about it makes it twice as entertaining.” She turned to Claire. “Yes, Uncle Diego is baby-sitting the alien. And if your shoes are all tied then I think we can leave them to it, don’t you?”

Claire nodded, throwing her arms around Diego once more before breaking away and running towards the door. 

“Let’s go, Mommy, let’s go!”

Allison made to follow but paused, turning back with a stern gaze. 

“Don’t break anything,” she said menacingly. “And don’t make me regret this.”

\- - -

When the front door slammed shut with all the finality of a coffin lid, Lila’s first instinct was to run. Lila’s first instinct was _always_ to run. She curled her hands into tight fists, focusing on the way her nails pressed deep into her palms instead of the panicked voice in the back of her head.

Her stomach boiled. Allison had said she planned on _calling_ Diego, not _inviting him over._ The betrayal stung, although it was admittedly softened by the comfort and care she had administered without complaint over the past few days. But a warning would’ve been nice, would’ve given her time to prepare, to strengthen her resolve, to…

To run.

But no, she couldn’t do that now, not to Diego, not again. All Lila ever seemed to do was hurt him, and even during the moments when his anger had been hot enough to burn her where she stood, he’d only ever asked her to stay. And she - bloody, stupid coward that she was - hadn’t even been able to give him that.

The silence between them was horrible. 

“Bear?” Lila asked finally, searching desperately for anything to say.

“Yeah, uh, Claire Bear,” Diego said sheepishly. He shifted to the couch opposite her and asked, “Alien?”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Your niece thinks I’m from outer space. It’s very annoying.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I think it kind of fits.” 

Diego’s eyes tracked over her face, and she could see him cataloging every visible scrape, cut and bruise. She felt raw under his inspection, and she bristled, hunching in on herself. 

“Stop staring at me.”

“I can’t help it, you like shit,” Diego replied, but he ducked his head all the same, dutifully studying his own clasped hands.

It gave Lila the opportunity to study him in turn. Seeing Diego with short hair continued to be something of a shock to the system - whenever she imagined him it was always how he had been in Dallas, all russet brown waves and shaggy goatee. He had still been big, broad shouldered and chested, but there had been a softness to him then. Now he was all hard angles, his beard trimmed and clean to reveal the cut lines of his face, the fade of his hair elongating his neck, accentuating the silvery-white scar that ran from ear to cheek.

She had once lied tangled with him in bed, tracing that scar with her fingers, asking for the story behind it. How easily he had opened up to her then, how fondly trusting he had been. And what had she done with that trust? Thrown it back in his face, squashed it beneath her booted heel. There was not a single promise that she had made him which she had been capable of keeping, and the shame of it gnawed at her.

“You told me not to run back to you, last time,” Lila said stiffly. “And I wasn’t planning to. I didn’t even mean to come here at all I was just…I don’t want you to think I wasn’t keeping my promise, because I meant to. I just wasn’t thinking clearly, is all.”

“I know,” Diego said quietly. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“That’s a first,” she scoffed, throat suddenly going tight.

“Lila,” he sighed, and she hated him for it, hated him for the way his voice softened around her name like it was worth his honesty, worth his patience. “I don’t know what happened - what has _been_ happening - to you. But based on how your face looks and the fact that you’re still here, it can’t be good. You’ve just made it pretty clear that you won’t talk unless you want to, so I’m not going to try.”

“Guess I’m not worth the effort, huh?” she asked thickly, trying to suppress the wobble in her voice.

“That’s not what I said,” he insisted.

“That’s what you meant.”

“Goddamnit Lila,” Diego groaned, exasperated. “Look, you look like you’ve been through some shit and need time to recover, and I don’t want you leaving in this state, alright? Plus…Allison told me not to.”

“Of course she did,” Lila hiccuped a laugh despite herself. “God, I have never met a bigger busybody in my entire life.”

“She was known as The Rumor,” Diego said with a quirk of his lips that was almost a smile. “She’s trying to do better, and I guess she deserves some credit for that, but she still just can’t help meddling.”

“Trust me, she doesn’t hide it well,” Lila snorted. She eyed Diego doubtfully, not quite trusting this calmer side of him. “You’re really not going to ask me any questions about what happened? About where I’ve been?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“You’re not at all curious?”

“I am,” he said. “And I have my theories but - ”

“Theories? What theories?” Lila’s suddenly felt herself go cold from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. They couldn’t have found her here, couldn’t have come through at all, she had been so sure of it… “Who have you been talking to? What did they say?”

“I haven’t been talking to anyone,” he said, frowning at her sudden defensiveness. “I just know what Five told me - ”

“Right, your brother, of course,” Lila laughed derisively, her heart hammering. She took a deep breath, trying to reel her panic back in. “That little asshole has me all figured out, does he?”

“Not, but I know you, Lila,” Diego said, his voice strained. “You’re kind of an open book too, okay? Look, you obviously got yourself into a some sort of trouble, and if you would just talk to me f _or once_ and tell me the truth then maybe I could help you…”

“You better check your hero complex there, Superman, I am not your damsel in distress to save,” she sneered. “And I don’t need any help, especially not from you.”

“Well you sure as fuck need it from someone,” he said hotly. “You don’t seem to be handling things well on your own.”

“I’m handling things fine!”

“Are you? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting it’s looks like you nearly got yourself killed,” he snapped. “God, what is wrong with you, Lila? All I’ve ever done is try and help you! And I know you can take care of yourself - you have made that abundantly clear - but you don’t _have to_ , do you get that? And I understand you, I know you must think it is easier to run from all of this shit than face it, but look where it’s gotten you.”

Lila burned. There was something ugly and raw clamoring up her throat - a scream, perhaps, building and bubbling - that wanted out. She swallowed reflexively, forcing it back down and felt it shatter inside her chest, the shards of it piercing and twisting within her body like a physical wound.

“Why won’t you talk to me, Lila?” Diego’s voice was quieter now, defeat coloring his tone. “You trusted me once, didn’t you? You can tell me what happened. I promise I’m not trying to _save_ you or anything, I’m just trying to understand.”

She stood abruptly, righting herself as a wave of dizziness threatened to send her crashing to the floor. Vision swimming, she stomped to the wall of windows, taking advantage of the light spilling out from behind the clouds. She grabbed the hem of the tunic she wore and ripped it over her head, leaving her in only the baggy yoga pants and Allison’s too-small bra.

Her skin tightened with goosebumps as the chilled air from the glass hit her exposed back. Turning slowly, she let the light catch her from different angles, fighting to feel powerful in her near-nakedness. Instead she felt acutely embarrassed by the brokenness of her body, overexposed and ridiculous. She wanted to cover-up but she was too far in to turn back now.

“If I’m such an open book, you could tell me what happened, right?” she hissed. “You know me so well, don’t you? You have your theories? Go on, you tell me what happened.”

Diego was silent and still on the couch, his eyes black and his mouth a thin line. 

“Tell me what happened,” she repeated, and it was almost a plea, her voice cracking. “You keep saying you know me, Diego, so you tell me, alright? Because I don’t want…I-I can’t by myself…”

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely carrying across the space between them. “I can try.”

He rose slowly from the couch walked towards her cautiously, as if preparing for her to bolt. But she only stood her ground, chin raised defiantly, until he was close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, his arms by his sides. Her chest was tight, breathing shallow, her awareness narrowed down to just him and every point on her body he wasn’t touching.

When he did touch her, it was gentle fingers upon her shoulder guiding her to turn. They whispered along the bruises darkening the back of her ribs, and she fought back a shudder.

“These look like they came from steel-toed boots,” he said quietly. “Somebody kicked you when you were down. And these,” he brushed along the scrapes the scored her shoulder as he guided her to turn again, “you probably got from being pushed into a wall too hard. How am I doing so far?”

“Child’s play,” she said, mouth dry.

His eyes were intent on her face, but did not meet her gaze. “I know a knife cut when I see it. They sliced down here,” his thumb softly bumped against cut on her lip, “and across here,” he said, fingers hovering just over her cheek. “Am I right?”

“It was a sword,” she whispered. When she closed her eyes she could still see the firelight glinting off it, hear it slice through the air next to her ear as she had jerked her head backwards, avoiding the worst of its bite.

“That explains the eye, then,” he said, his voice no more than a rumble from his chest. “Cold-cocked you with the hilt of it, probably.”

“What else?”

He paused, leaning back slightly to take in the rest of her with hard eyes. She watched the muscles in his jaw clench as he fought to control his anger, mapping out the battle on her body. 

“The rest of these,” he gestured to the smaller bruises and scabs along her torso. “Fists, mainly, standard fighting hits.”

“And?” The pieces were fitting together, if only he’d see it. She grasped his hand in hers, lifting it to eye level. “What are these?”

He grazed the even pattern of needle-point punctures on the back of her arm. “These were from spikes - maybe on armor or imbedded in a bat. You went to block a blow and they caught you with them instead. But these,” his thumb stroked against the soft skin at the heel of her palm, just skating the edges of gauze wrapped around her wrist, “these look like they were from handcuffs, but maybe bigger? Maybe…”

“Shackles.” 

Lila forced herself to meet his stare, watching the pieces click into place and understanding dawn across his face. 

“You were caught,” he said. “And they kept you prisoner.”

“ _Honored guest_ ,” she breathed unsteadily, shivering violently as the memory threatened to overtake her whole. 

Diego dropped her hand and turned from her, and for one horrible moment she thought he was going to leave, but he only stooped down to pick-up her tunic. She accepted it from his mutely, holding it to her chest.

“Tell me what happened, Diego,” she said. “What are your theories?”

He gave her a meaningful look and she sighed, slipping the fabric back over her head, covering the red-blue-black patchwork of her body.

“I think you tried to save your parents,” Diego said finally. “And I don’t think it went well.” 

There was no use pretending otherwise. She nodded. 

“And?”

“And I think only someone who knows about your powers would know how to get the upper hand on you in the first place,” he continued uneasily. “So my guess is it was the Commission or…or the Handler.”

“And?”

“And?” he looked truly pained now. “Some of your injuries look fresher than others, but I don’t know if that’s because you tried to escape and got caught again or if they were…if they were torturing you.”

In some small, logical part of her brain that was completely divorced from the situation, Lila was impressed. In another life, Diego would’ve made a great detective.

“You don’t have to worry your pretty little head, I was far too important to hurt on purpose,” Lila reassured him. “They were only rough with me when they thought it necessary.”

“Who are ‘they,’ the Commission?” he pressed.

It would be worse to leave Diego with only half the truth, Lila decided. Worse to let his mind fill the gaps with darker imaginings. And now that it was half out anyways, the frame carefully pieced together, it would hurt too much to hold back the rest. One way or another, she couldn’t carry this alone any longer.

But she couldn’t do this with him staring at her like this. She stepped back and away, turning her back to him and walking along the wall of windows, trying to put space between them. She stopped before the stupid, yellow llama, its familiarity helping ground her, the feel of its soft plushness anchoring her to the surroundings.

“I um, I thought there was a way I could save them all,” she began, tugging gently at the toy’s ears. “A way to stop my mum from killing my parents without hurting her…or your brother. And I did, but um, somehow I only made things worse.”

“Worse?” 

She could hear him approaching behind her, and she held up her hand to stop him. 

“Just…let me finish,” she said, pulling her hand back and clenching the synthetic fur. “My mum wasn’t always a bad person, you have to understand that. And I don’t know if it was because of raising me that did it, but I do know that when I stopped her from kidnapping me as a child she just…from what I learned later, she was pissed. She made a deal she shouldn’t have with some shady figure. They only ever called him The Monocle and I never saw him, but from what I gather, he and her had similar ideas about what to do with people like us.”

She paused but Diego didn’t say a word, didn’t come any closer. 

“Did you know that there are thirty-five others like us?” she asked. “Besides you and me and your siblings…there were forty-three kids born on October the first to mums who hadn’t been pregnant the day before. And my mum and The Monocle took each and every one of them, trained them all like I was, and used them to take over the Commission to rewrite the timeline their way.”

“People were terrified of them,” she said shakily. “They would swoop out of thin air and pick-off anyone on the street who was toeing the line of messing up the order of things - think _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ but with superheroes…or villains, actually. People called them the Sparrows.”

“I lasted three days after saving my parents before they got me. They knew I was like them but wasn’t from their timeline, but they didn’t know what to do with me,” she sighed. “I tried escaping loads of times - all one of them had to do was get close enough for me to mimic them and I was out. But never for long, and soon they caught on.”

“How long were you there?” Diego asked.

“A month? Maybe more,” Lila said, shrugging. “The last time I got out I made it all the way to the Commission headquarters and got into the briefcase room. Blew up the whole thing, but I took two with me. There are all these rules about using the stupid things so I didn’t know if it was going to work but I had to try…I opened them both at the same time, but for different dates.”

“And that got you out?”

“It’s complicated,” Lila said, struggling to find the words, wondering if it was worth explaining how it had felt to be split it two, to have her entire body burned away and knitted back together piece by agonizing piece. “The simplest way to understand it is I created a paradox. I could’ve died but I ended up in Nepal, of all places. I smashed the other briefcase to bits and then…I wasn’t well, I was hurting and sick and I-I just wanted my mum. But somehow I made my way back here instead.”

“And what about the Sparrows?” Diego asked. “The Monocle, are they going to be following you?”

“That timeline is closed now,” she said severely. “I can’t ever go back and they can’t ever get out. They’re all trapped there and they can’t get me ever again.”

There was a fire in her throat and it threatened to consume her whole, but the tears gathering behind her eyes were dampening the flames so that she was only left with salted smoke and ash. For weeks she had been, quite literally, trapped in hell of her own making, eaten alive with the shame of knowing the world was falling apart because of her and her selfishness.

It took all her remaining courage to turn and face Diego again. When she did, she could read along the furrows in his brow and the downwards pull at the corner of his lips all his horror at her story, the pity he had for her, his lingering confusion. But there was no blame there, no accusation of guilt, and it wasn’t until that very moment that she realized how terrified she’d been that he would’ve hated her for what she’d done.

“So, you’re safe now?” he asked, daring to take another step towards her. 

“As safe as I can be.”

“And…your parents?” 

She twisted her fingers, grimacing at the twinge of pain from her wrist. _Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds._

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter now,” she said. “They’re as good as dead there. My mum too, and your brother, and you, and your siblings, and every person I left to rot there. They’re all dead, and I’m not, and that’s it.”

“Lila…” he stopped, moved closer to touch her but seemed to think better of it. “You’re home now, you got out, and that’s what matters, okay? I’m really sorry about your parents, and I’m sorry that you had to go through all that alone. But you made it back - mostly in one piece - and that’s all that matters now.”

“All those people who died, whose lives are _fucked_ because of me - ”

“You can’t do that,” he said firmly. “You will drive yourself crazy if you do that. You’re home, Lila, you’re safe, everyone here is safe, you haven’t broken anything here that can’t be fixed, okay? You have to just focus on that, nothing else.”

Ignoring how her heart clung to his use of the word ‘home,’ she nodded and surreptitiously wiped her sleeve across her face, wincing slightly when she pressed down too hard on her healing eye. She was exhausted and ached all over, inside and out. 

“So what now?” she asked.

“Now?” Diego huffed a small laugh. “After all that, I figure all you’d want to do is sleep for a week. I know I would.”

“I’m not tired,” Lila lied.

“Well, we can do whatever you want,” he said. “We could watch a movie or TV, or I think Allison has some board games lying around, or - ”

“TV sounds good,” Lila said, forcing a smile smile. “D’ya know they have cartoons now all day every day, not just Saturday mornings?”

“Cartoons it is,” Diego said. He hesitated only a moment before offering Lila his hand.

She pressed her palm to his, curling her fingers tightly and letting him pull her closer. His eyes were dark and intense with something that wasn’t pity, wasn’t relief but something far more precious.

“I missed you,” he breathed, and he said it like a secret, like it meant something else entirely, and it made her warm all over.

“I missed you too,” she whispered, and it felt like she was admitting something much bigger, something she had only ever said aloud once. 

She watched his face carefully and saw the moment he truly heard her, recognized what she was trying to say. And it was something of a comfort - standing hand-in-hand in the quietness of the apartment, miles above anything that could hurt them - to be able to say one thing and have it understood as another. 

Maybe he did know her after all.

\- - -

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch, flipping back-and-forth between cartoons and nature documentaries with the chaotic swirl of colors and screams became too much for Lila to handle. They ordered Chinese takeout for a late lunch, which they ate in front of the television, and the food and the soft lull of the narrator discussing the migratory patterns of African swallows put Lila to sleep, her head nodding drowsily against Diego’s shoulder. 

It was nice and easy and stupidly domestic. But Diego’s mind was a million miles away, panicked and scattered as he parsed through the story of The Monocle and his Sparrows. Lila had relayed it so matter-of-factly, and she was so very much alive and snoring softly against him, but he could not stop thinking about how close he’d come to losing her forever. 

“ _She’s going to try to change the timeline,_ ” Five had told him during their night-long car ride months ago. “Y _ou chose a winner alright; she’s as reckless and idiotic as you are_. _But we better pray she doesn’t succeed, because it’s not going to end well. For anyone.”_

He shifted slightly and Lila mumbled incoherently, readjusting so that she lay with her head in his lap, curled against him. Her weight and warmth against his leg was a steadying reassurance of her presence, and he breathed out slowly, trying to dissipate the rising tide of anxiety grasping at his lungs. 

Lila’s behavior had been reckless - stupidly, _dangerously_ reckless - but not idiotic, not without reason. And she alone had paid the price for it. Her, and an entire world that was now trapped in the darkest of timelines beyond anyone’s help. The implications of that were too big for Diego to fathom, and so he simply didn’t. 

He absentmindedly brushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and wondered how long she would stay for this time. Circumstance had driven Lila to Allison’s door, but it was only her injuries that kept her here. At no point had she made the decision to stop running, and it was only a matter of time before old habits kicked in. 

Maybe being prepared for it this time would be enough to shield him from the pain of her leaving. Maybe he was trying too hard to force her to be what he needed instead of accepting her as she was. If he could just learn to live with her constant running, satisfy himself with the bits and pieces of her she chose to share, then maybe they had a chance at being happy.

But Diego knew himself well enough to know he could not settle for that kind of life with Lila. He wanted her too much to be content with fleeting visits, needed her with him to feel like he could breathe. Without her, he spent almost every waking second worrying about where she could and if she was safe, glancing over his shoulder for her, trying to will her into existence by his side.

“What are you thinking about?” 

He hadn’t realized she had woken up. She turned over awkwardly so that she could stare up at him, stretching out her toes with a satisfied hum.

“Nothing,” he dismissed, carding his fingers through her hair once more. “Go back to sleep.”

She frowned, nuzzling her forehead into his hip. 

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“Shoot.”

“Allison and I were talking last night and she…she mentioned you have a habit of sticking by the people you love,” Lila said carefully. “And she said I was one of those people.”

“What’s your question?” He whispered. 

“Was she right?” Lila asked, sitting up to face him, the wounds lining her body making her movements stilted and stiff. “Do you love me, Diego?”

He remembered lying on Elliot’s bed with her a year ago when she had asked him if he thought it was okay that she didn’t hate him like she hated everyone else. She had asked it like she was revealing a weakness, a small secret part of herself that she had been compelled to say aloud. She was looking at him that same way now, the need and trepidation making her meek, doubting she had the right to pose her question to him.

He needed to touch her, stroked his hand through her hair again, trying to align his thoughts into something coherent. What could he say to her now? “Yes, but I wish I didn’t? Yes, but it hurts too much to talk about? If I tell you what you want to hear, will that make you stay?”

“Lila, I…”

The cheerful _DING_ of the elevator beyond the front door cut him off, and they both stilled as Allison and Claire’s voices became louder and louder.

“Forget it, forget I asked,” Lila said quickly, pulling back from Diego.

“Wait, I - ”

“Later, we can talk later,” Lila shushed him as the front door opened. 

“Well, nothing appears to be broken,” Allison said in lieu of a greeting when she entered the living room, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“C’mon Allison, have some faith in us,” Diego said weakly. “You know we would’ve already trashed whatever we broke.”

Allison “hmm’ed” disdainfully as Claire came barging in, holding a tiny stuffed cow. 

“For you!” she cried happily, thrusting it into Lila’s hands. “Aliens always take cows onto their spaceships for milk and cheese and stuff, so I thought you would want your own since your ship isn’t here!”

Even reeling from the whiplash of the moment, it took all of Diego’s self-control not to bust out laughing at Lila’s pained expression. 

“Thanks, pipsqueak,” she said with a forced smile, holding the plushie gingerly between her fingers. “I’ll uh…I’ll just keep this with me until I can…get back to my ship.”

Allison was much better at hiding her amusement, although she met Diego’s glance with a definite twinkle in her eye. 

“So,” she said, clapping her hands. “Diego, are you staying for dinner? It’s movie night and Claire has requested _Zootopia_ to thoroughly round out the day.”

“Actually, I think I better get going,” Diego said, pushing off from the couch. “I left Sal in a lurch today which means I’m probably on paperwork and clean-up duty tonight.”

Lila shot him a worried look, which Allison obviously took note of, but neither said a word.

“But Uncle Diego, you didn’t even come to the zoo today,” Claire whined.

“I know, but I can come by again, maybe tomorrow?” He asked, looking towards Allison for approval.

“Tomorrow sounds great, we’ll all be here,” she said before turning to usher Claire down the hallways. “Come on Claire, let’s go changed into our comfy pants before dinner. Lila, can you lock the door behind Diego when he leaves? Thanks.”

Lila was quiet as she followed him to the front door, arms crossed tightly around her chest. He paused, one hand on the doorknob, wondering if she was expecting him to finish his thought from earlier when she cleared her throat.

“Um, you are going to come back again, aren’t you?” she asked, scuffing her toe along the floor.

“Yeah, I’ll be back tomorrow,” Diego said, touching her arm gently, the tension in his chest easing. “And the day after that, if you want.”

“Promise?”

“I pinky promise,” he said solemnly. “The pinkiest.”

True to his word, Diego continued to stop by Allison’s over the next few days, always with something in hand - lunch for them all or a new movie to watch, and once, to Claire’s utter delight, with a thousand-piece puzzle.

“I can count to a thousand,” she proudly announced as they tipped the pieces onto the table and began sorting them. “Want to hear?” 

“No,” Lila and Diego both said loudly at the same time Allison said, “Of course!”

He never stayed for very long; he was still expected at the gym in order to stay employed, as Sal kept reminding him. But every day he would knock on the door with heart in his stomach, expecting Allison to appear and tell him that Lila was gone. And every day she wasn’t - when she was the one who opened the door with a small smile and a dry quip - the sense of relief that washed over him was as heady as a drug. 

But every time he had to go, he’d turn to Lila and try to read on her face whether or not she had decided yet to leave. For three days his answer was the same: not tonight, but maybe tomorrow.

On the fourth day, Allison wondered aloud during dinner if maybe it was time to tell their other siblings that Lila was staying.

“They’re asking a bunch of questions, and I don’t like lying to them,” she said, passing a plate of noodles to Claire. “And anyways Lila, you seem to be doing much better, I don’t think a little more company is going to exhaust you too much. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right,” Lila said after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, it’s probably time, isn’t it? Go ahead invite them over or whatever. The more the merrier, right?”

Allison and Diego shared a look, but they let the subject drop.

That night Lila walked him to the door, like she did every night. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

“Yeah, I’ll be here,” Diego said.

The guilty expression on her face confirmed what he already knew, that she would be gone by morning. They stood in the shadows of the foyer, neither moving, prolonging the goodbye as long as possible.

“Diego…” she began but stopped abruptly, biting her lip. “We never got to finish our talk the other day.”

“No, I guess we never got to,” he said, stressing the end of the sentence. He didn’t want to have this conversation with her now, not if she was leaving, it wasn’t fair.

Lila looked at him then, her eyes burning and dark, the contours of her face exaggerated by the dim lights of the hall. She took a step forward, then another until she was in his space, standing toe-to-toe with him. The brace wrapped around her wrist scratched the skin of his neck as she slid her hands around him, pulling herself up and kissing him soundly. 

He cupped her face, trying to imprint the feel of her skin against him into his memory, the sound of her breath, the warm press of her in his arms. And when she broke away, sinking back on her heels, he knew that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her here, nothing he could hold back from her.

“Yes,” he breathed against her lips. “To answer your question, yes.”

She did not pull back, did not give any indication that she had heard his words, save for the small spasm of her hands where they lay against his chest.

“Goodnight, Diego,” she murmured. 

He knew a farewell when he heard one, knew an epilogue when as it appeared before him. Diego pressed his lips against her forehead, trying to stave off the overwhelming bitterness in his throat, before turning around and walking away, letting her close and lock the door behind him.

\- - - 

The early morning clouds burned away in the bright sun until there was nothing but clear, blue sky overhead. Diego had the windows in the living room open as he puttered around, getting ready to leave for work. The air outside was warm, even if the breeze rolling through was cool, and it felt as though spring had come at last.

He was already waiting by the phone when it rang, knew who was calling before he even had looked at the ID. 

“So, she’s gone.”

“Yeah, she left sometime this morning I think,” Allison sighed sadly. “Didn’t say goodbye, and Claire’s really upset about it. Can you stop by before work? She left something for you.”

“Of course,” he said, car keys already in hand. “I’ll be there soon.”

It was a short drive to Allison’s apartment, and he kept the radio off, trying to keep his focus on the road ahead and not the swirling mess of thoughts in his head. As he had expected, knowing that Lila had been planning to leave had not protected him from the blow her departure dealt. But the sting of her flight was less acute than in the past, and all the anger he felt was weighed down by the sheer sadness at the loss of her. 

“Claire’s been crying since she found out,” Allison said when she opened the door to him. He noted that her own eyes looked a little red around the rims and puffy, but pretended not to see. 

“I can talk to her, if you want,” he offered, wondering how he was supposed to explain to Claire what he himself didn’t fully understand. “You said she left something for me?”

Allison looked at him like she meant to pull him into a hug, but thankfully decided against it at the last second. Instead, she dug into her pocket and produced a a folded piece of paper, handing it to him like it was a live bomb.

_This is the last time I promise  
_ _I have to do this but I am coming back  
_ _I promise_  
_Yes for me too  
_ _L._

“It’s not a pinky promise,” Allison said, watching Diego carefully as he read it. “But she took the time to write it so that must mean something, right?”

“If that’s what you think,” Diego said, folding the letter back up and tucking it inside his pocket.

“Well, what do you think?” Allison pushed. “She’s your…I mean, you know her better than I do. Is she going to come back?”

Diego shrugged. “I trust her,” he said. “And I know her, know that she won’t stop running until she’s ready. So I just have to believe the she’s telling the truth, that she’ll be back.”

_Yes for me too._

It was the closest he was going to get to knowing if his feelings were reciprocated, and it was strangely enough for him. There was something unfurling in his chest sharper than anger, brighter than sorrow. It was a hard thing, stubborn and determined and surprisingly light. And it felt suspiciously like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The problem with creating so many opened-ended questions in previous chapters is that I was forced to make up answers for them here! This chapter was not planned in my original outline of the story but it felt necessary for Lila to have the opportunity to have her own perspective in this story. One more chapter to go (I promise this time), thank you as always for your kind comments!
> 
> \- - - 
> 
> \- _"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."_ This is a line from the Bhagavad-Gita, a Hindu scripture, that was popularized by Robert Oppenheimer who used it to describe his feelings about creating the atom bomb and his work in the Manhattan Project.
> 
> \- Any mention of a cartoon sponge is always a reference to _SpongeBob SquarePants_ mostly because I have no idea what other television shows exist for kids these days.
> 
> \- E.T. was the name and title character of the that 1982 classic film, _E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial._
> 
> \- _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ (or _1984_ as I had it written before Google told me I was wrong) by George Orwell is the inimitable dystopian novel about totalitarianism and mass surveillance. A fitting read for our current environment! 
> 
> \- "Migratory patterns of African swallows," is a reference to _Monty Python and the Holy Grail._


	7. Luther

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re nervous,” Luther said, nodding his head towards her fingers where they plucked at a loose thread on her jeans.
> 
> “Am not,” she snapped. When he raised an eyebrow at her she sighed and said, much softer, “maybe a little.”
> 
> “Love, right?” Luther asked, giving her his best reassuring smile. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”
> 
> Lila groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my _god_ , you really _are_ like this, aren’t you?"

\- - -

Everything about Luther Hargreeves’s life looked different now than he had ever imagined it would be. If he really thought about it, sat down and tracked the trajectory of his life, there were two distinct chapters - _before_ and _after_. And the line between the two was so finite, so firmly solid, that he was helpless to do anything but compare his _after_ to everything _before._

_After_ was categorized by a singular mantra, a phrase that fired along the synapses of his brain like a shadow, ever present and intangible, co-mingling with all his other thoughts - the horrible line _used to be_ ringing constantly in his ears _._ Everything in his life was marked now by what used to be.

He used to be Number One, and that used to mean something. He used to be the favorite, and that too used to hold weight. He used to be the brightest star of his siblings, he used to be the best of them. He used to be a hero.

And he used to be on the precipice of his life, used to be right on the edge of starting something wonderful and magnificent. He used to have plans for what came next. And even if they became muddled along the way, even if there had been a few years towards the end - before the _after -_ that felt a little confusing, at least they had been his to be confused by, at least they had resembled something of the future he had wanted for himself.

And then there was the accident. Suddenly, the life he wanted disappeared in a cloud of smoke and a haze of pain, and he awoke to discover he was a stranger in his own body.

Luther had never really put much thought into his physical appearance growing up, only that he was taller than his brothers, fairer too. Diego once mocked that he looked like the Hallmark version of the American Dream personified, and he hadn’t been far off the mark. Luther used to be all blonde hair and blue eyes, shining with the certain knowledge of his place in the world, of his purpose.

_After_ the accident, he had become grotesque, disproportionately muscled, covered in coarse black hair. After the accident, Luther would look in the mirror and only see a creature, not a man, and certainly not the boy he had been. 

Even as time passed and his consciousness filled in the nooks and crannies of his new body, he could still surprise himself by forgetting how changed he had become. No matter how many times he got stuck in a doorframe or knocked over a chair as he tried to edge around it, no matter how many times people stopped to gawk at him as he passed, it always shocked him as if it were the first time.

There were, of course, pay-offs for living in the _after_. For instance, he now had a family made up of siblings, not competitors for the meager portions of affection doled out by an unforgiving father. He may no longer by Number One of the Umbrella Academy, but he was learning to just be Luther - who had a job and an apartment and was trying to build a life for himself on his own. All things considered, he was arguably better off now than he had been as a young man. 

Which is why it filled him with such deep shame to know that he would trade all of it away in an instant if it meant going back to before, if it meant returning to his old body, if it meant being the naively hopeful Number One once more. 

Luther wanted to be happy now, wanted to celebrate his new life post apocalypses and time travel, but even that was easier said than done. The Hargreeves family had been back home for quite some time, and all of his siblings seemed to be moving on with their lives; Allison and Klaus with their new careers, Diego and Vanya with their jobs, even Five was in school and focused on graduating. 

And where was Luther? 

He did have a job that paid the bills and even allowed him the opportunity to spend some more time with Vanya, which was nice. But there was only so much personal fulfillment he could get from lugging heavy set pieces from one side of the stage to the other. And besides, performances were a complete nightmare for him; he was much too big and cumbersome to navigate the narrow paths backstage, moved too loudly and had a nasty habit of tripping over smaller props and people.

And the longer they were back, the more apparent it became how much his family just did not need him. Problems arose between his siblings and were solved before he was even informed. Even when he did try to help, he was met with bitter cold shoulders from Diego and snappish dismissals from Five. No one turned to him in times of crisis, no one needed him to fix things, no one asked his advice, no one was really relying on him to be anything but simply _there_. 

The truth was this - every one of his siblings was thriving in this new timeline but not him. He was drowning, falling deeper and deeper into himself, with no idea how to pull his way out.

They had been back almost an entire year when the final sale of the Umbrella Academy estate finally went through. The legalese of the sale confused most of the siblings - only two of them had gone to college but they didn’t have “Introductions to Contract Law” for music theory or advanced mathematics majors - so the lawyer handling the sale walked them through it as best she could. As she painstakingly explained it by phone, the estate had been bought by the city with half of it requisitioned for public use and the other half broken down and parceled up for sale by private corporations. 

“A committee of some city officials and relevant parties will be brought together to oversee the bidding process,” the lawyer explained loudly throughout the speakerphone as all seven Hargreeves sat around Vanya’s apartment straining to hear her over the _CLICK CLACK CLACKING_ of her incessant typing. “Just to make sure we don’t build Kosher supermarket next to a barbecue slaughterhouse, you know?”

“Sorry, does that sort of thing happen a lot?” Vanya asked weakly.

“No, but never say never,” the lawyer said darkly. “Anyways, you will need to have someone serve on the committee to represent your family’s interest. You won’t have any final say, of course - that’ll be way above your pay grade - but the fellas in charge thought it would be a nice gesture, you know? Honor your father and your family and all that. Now I am happy to fill that role for your family should you need - ”

“That won’t be necessary,” Allison said, and the wheels were visibly turning behind her eyes as she turned to face him. “Our brother Luther will serve on the committee. Just let us know when the first meeting is happening and he will be there.”

Two weeks later, Luther sat at a conference table that had been set up in the empty space that had once served as a sitting room for his family, staring at the painting of Five that still hung over the mantel, wondering faintly if his family had sent him there as punishment.

It was horrible being back home, horrible in a way that made his stomach clench and his hands clammy. The Academy at once looked exactly the same as it always had, but the small changes here or there made the space feel foreign - missing furniture that had already been sold or trashed, priceless pieces of art that had already been rounded up and donated to the public art museum, missing books that had been sent to the library. But more than that, it was the influx of people flitting in and out of the halls. There were more strangers in his childhood home now than Luther had ever seen there in his entire life, and it made his uneasy.

There were too many lawyers at the table, all in crisp suits and wearing benignly affable smiles. The other committee members seemed to be local business owners from some Corporate Advisory Council, a handful of philanthropists and the director from the art museum, who had been granted the largest share of the estate to build an arts education school.

“ _Outgoing_ director,” she said during the first introductions, waving away the head lawyer’s list of accolades with a hand that glittered and jangled with rings and bracelets. “I am retiring at the end of the year.”

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Gabriel, I was going to mention that next,” the lawyer said tersely. He cleared his throat. “And of course, we would not be here today if not for the generosity of Hargreeves family and - ”

“You forgot to introduce Wendy,” Mrs. Gabriel interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“My executive assistant, Wendy Nguyen,” Mrs. Gabriel waved another ostentatiously bedecked hand behind her, indicating the young woman who sat in a seat against the wall. “Wendy is helping oversee the transition of my role to our newly appointed director and - more importantly - owns my schedule. So throughout this process all questions should be directed to her first and to me only if necessary.”

Clearly trying to stifle a laugh, Wendy gave a small wave to the other committee members. She had blunt bangs and her shiny, black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, revealing ears that sparkled with multiple silver piercings. She wore a _Grateful Dead_ t-shirt under a smartly cut blazer, the cuffed sleeves rolled up to reveal swirling lines of ink on her wrists.

“Um, yes, well, yes thank you for joining us Miss, uh… Miss Wendy,” the lawyer said, stumbling over his words. “As I was saying, yes, thanks to the generosity of the Hargreeves family…”

Throughout the unnecessarily long and overly-embellished list of praises and verbal genuflections that preceded his introduction, Wendy caught Luther’s eyes and rolled her own, hard. It distracted Luther so much that he missed his cue to start speaking, stood up too fast and nearly upended the entire table, flubbing his way through the short remarks Five and Allison had written for him.

“Well, now that we all seemed to be acquainted with the lingering might and majesty of the Hargreeves family, let’s have a look at this house, shall we?” Mrs. Gabriel said after he concluded. She made a great show of standing up from the table and then turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Well, Mr. Hargreeves, are you going to lead us along on this tour or shall we stumble through trap doors and secret entrances on our own?”

“Er, right, of course,” Luther hurried up from the table to the front of the hallway. “I guess you all can follow me?”

The whole experience definitely felt like a punishment. 

Luther led them through rooms that had been emptied of everything familiar save the bad memories they held, lamely trying to explain their point and purpose. But with a house that contained forty-two rooms, nineteen bathrooms and stretched across an entire city block, not every room had been put to use, and he had a hard time explaining why Vanya had been forced to occupy the teeny hall closet in the basement and not one more the spacious, vacant rooms elsewhere.

The tour group - including Mrs. Gabriel and her assistant - were blessedly quiet and kept their questions to a minimum until they got to the courtyard. Ben’s status still lay were it had been knocked to the ground, shattered and starting to rust, covered in creeping vines.

“Um, there was an accident,” Luther explained. “So I guess we’ll need to get this fixed, but this is where my brother Ben - er, I guess you all knew him as The Horror - this is where he was buried.”

“And you’ll be having him exhumed and moved to another location, yes?” Mrs. Gabriel asked.

Luther stopped, taken aback. “No, why would we be doing that? This was Ben’s home,” he said.

Mrs. Gabriel visibly bristled. “Well that’s very morbid, isn’t it?” she asked Wendy loudly before directing her opinion to Luther. “I just thought, Mr. Hargreeves, as this estate was no longer going to be home to you or any one of your siblings that you might want to move your brother to a more convenient location, one where you all may visit him more frequently. And it would be very odd to have a grave in the middle of an arts school - odd, but not unheard of.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” was all Luther could say. 

Mrs. Gabriel patted the plinth fondly, eyeing Luther over her leopard-print spectacles with a look of concern. “You talk it over with your siblings, Mr. Hargreeves, and when you are ready, give Wendy a call and she will help you sort it all out.”

\- - -

“You’re joking,” Klaus fumed that evening over dinner. “We’re not moving Ben.”

“Well, wait a second, let’s think this through,” Diego said slowly. He had been quieter since his fateful car ride with Five, almost apologetic when addressing his brothers, and he spoke to Klaus now in a low, calm voice. “She does have a point - who of us besides Luther has stepped foot in the Academy since we moved out? And if it’s being turned into schools and shops and restaurants, maybe it is best we move him somewhere else.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Klaus said, growing increasingly agitated. “The Academy is Ben’s home, we’re not kicking him out.” 

It was so rare for Klaus to get legitimately angry that his outrage gave the rest of the pause. Diego, Five and Luther exchanged a glance before Diego pressed on in the same, pacifying tone.

“Ben hated that place more than any of us,” he said. “And we all got a chance to leave, don’t you think he would want the same thing?” 

“You don’t know that!” Klaus cried. “You don’t know what he wanted.”

“Well what about what we want?” Five asked, sounding annoyed himself. “I, for one, would like the opportunity to visit my brother’s final resting place for once. I didn’t get to before, and going back to the Academy now is too depressing.”

“And once they get that arts school open, you gotta think about how many kids are going to be running all over the courtyard,” Luther said. “It just wouldn’t be…respectful.”

“ _Respectful_?” Klaus laughed, and there was a poisonous edge to his tone. “Wow, you know, that is really something coming from you! You, the guy who couldn’t control his King Kong fists and broke Ben’s statue in the first place! Respect, wow.” 

“Klaus - ”

“No, no,” Klaus pushed back from the table, white and shaking with anger. “You all seem to have made up your minds already. So go on, go do what _you_ think is best, like you always do. Never mind that he was _my_ brother, never mind that _I_ knew him best.”

“Hey, knock it off,” Luther snapped. “Alright I know you’re upset, but he was our brother too.” 

But the only response was the deafening slam of Klaus’s door, the force of which rattled the picture frames on the walls.

“Hm. I was not expecting that,” Five said with a shrug. He stood and began clearing his and Klaus’s plates. “Give him time, he’ll come around.”

“I don’t know, he seemed pretty upset,” Luther said.

“He can’t mourn Ben forever,” Five said firmly, but there was no harshness to his tone, just a resigned sort of sadness. “At some point he is going to have to come to terms with the fact that he is gone. Just call Allison and Vanya, get their take on moving the grave, and let Klaus come around when he’s ready.  Just….remember, none of us gets to judge how another grieves. Give him time.”

Later that night, well after midnight, Luther was still up and sorting his dirty clothes to take to the laundromat the next morning when there was a soft knock on his door.

“Yeah?”

Klaus slid into the room, looking purposefully disheveled in his silk, burgundy pajamas and a matching robe. His eyes were downcast, but Luther could still see that they were bloodshot and red-rimmed.

“So, um,” he took a deep, shuddering breath. “You were right. Ben hated the Academy, hated it so much he kept his nose buried in books for almost his entire life so that he could be anywhere else in the universe but there. And now that he’s gone - _gone_ , gone - it may bebest to let him finally leave. It’s just hard, you know?”

“I know,” Luther said quickly, then frowned. “Well, no I don’t. What do you mean?”

Klaus shrugged, toying with the fraying ends of his robe. “Everything’s great now,” he said thickly. “Everyone’s great. We’re all doing _great_ , except for Ben, because he died and he moved on. And everyone is moving on, including me. It just feels like we’re all forgetting. It feels like _I’m_ forgetting that he’s supposed to be here. And it sucks, it really fucking sucks.”

Luther didn’t know what the right thing was to say here. Vanya was good with feelings, Allison was good at support, hell even Diego was known to be empathetic when the situation called for it. So, he did the only thing he knew how to do - ramble, as honestly as possible.

“Ben’s been dead for a long time…not so long for you, but for the rest of us,” Luther sighed and rubbed his hands over his head. “In a couple years, I will have lived longer without him than with him, and you’re right, it sucks. But moving on isn’t necessarily a bad thing, I think. At least I don’t think it’s the same as forgetting, it’s just…living? And sometimes that’s being sad about losing him and sometimes that’s being less sad. We’re never going to forget Ben - how could we? - he was our brother, and we loved him. But I think he’d be annoyed if he knew we were still doing this, you know? Fighting over his grave, letting ourselves get weighed down forever with this grief. He didn’t like it when we were upset, and I think this right here would’ve hurt him.”

“He did really hate it when we’d fight,” Klaus said with a watery laugh. He sighed deeply and sat down next to Luther, knocking their shoulders together. “So. Where are we moving him to, then?”

“Hadn’t thought that through too much, honestly,” Luther said. “But I guess we can find a place all six of us like? So we can all visit whenever we want to.” 

“Maybe by a tree?” Klaus asked, thinking it through. “But no statues this time. That old one didn’t even look like him, and he hated it.”

“No statues,” Luther agreed. “And Klaus? If you’re still…you know, not all of us are doing great all the time, we’re just all really good at pretending. And I…I’m not doing great a lot of the time. So if you wanted to talk…you know, I’m not great with words, but uh, I am trying. And I am here.”

Klaus smiled, genuine and soft. “Thanks man,” he said. “And same, okay? Whatever it is, you just have to ask.”

At the start of summer, when the days felt longer than the nights and twice as hot, the six Hargreeves siblings drove to the northern most end of the city. In a cemetery that sat on the top of a hill, Benjamin Hargreeves was re-laid to rest in a plot they all had chosen, under a beech tree whose branches swayed in the breeze.

The gravestone was simple - carrying just his name, his birth and death dates, and an epitaph Klaus and chosen himself: _The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion._ There was no mention of the Horror, no reference to the Umbrella Academy, and - most importantly - no statue. 

It was a nice day. They drank white wine from plastic cups and toasted their brother, laughing over fond memories, pointedly ignoring any shed tears, and keeping their bickering to a minimum. 

“You doing okay?” Luther asked Klaus at one point while their siblings were distracted.

“Eh,” Klaus shrugged. “‘Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man,’ right?”

“Klaus.”

“I’m fine, big guy,” Klaus laughed, patting Luther’s arm. “Just soaking it all in, you know? This might be the best funeral this family’s ever had.”

When the sun began to set and they all turned to go, Klaus lingered behind. He didn’t stay long, but rubbed his hand along the smooth headstone before lifting his fingers and saluting the grave. 

“Enjoy your new digs, Benny-boy,” he said softly, before turning and heading down to the car, where alls his siblings were patiently waiting for him.

\- - -

The committee met once a week for those first few months, receiving the weekly packets of bids to review, then coming together at the Academy to discuss the merits or pitfalls of each. Luther was not expected to talk much at these meetings - which was good because he wasn’t sure what he could possibly say that would benefit anyone - but he listened closely and tried to appear engaged. And every once in a while he would be asked to show the group a section of the estate they were discussing and would lead them through the many hallways, trying his best to answer any questions.

While the meetings themselves weren’t horrible, Luther found the regular trips back to the Academy strangely exhausting. The emptier the house became, the more ghosts Luther found. Out of the corner of his eye he could almost see Grace bustling around the kitchen, and when he walked through the front door, the absence of Pogo’s greetings felt like missing a step up the stairs. The basement was the worst, where he could almost hear the sad echoes of a violin, the quiet laughter from behind the closed doors and, worst of all, the muffled tears.

It was just a house, he kept reminding himself. It had existed before him and would long after he was gone. He had survived an entire lifetime within these walls, he could manage a few measly hours a week. 

And he was handling it well, for the most part, or so he thought. It wasn’t until a note appeared one day with his weekly parcel of bid proposals that he realized just how poorly he had been hiding his discomfort. 

_Mr. Hargreeves,_

_The Umbrella Academy Estate Bids Committee meetings will henceforth be convening at the City Public Arts Museum at the normal time. Kindly inform the receptionist at the front desk of the appointment and you will be directed to the conference room in the management offices. Should any issues arise, please contact Ms. Nguyen, whose number is listed below._

The letter was signed care of the lawyers heading up the committee, but Mrs. Gabriel’s influence was clear. It had not escaped Luther’s notice how closely she seemed to watch him over the past few weeks, nor had he missed the urgently whispered conversation she and her assistant had been having with the lawyers following last week’s meeting.

The embarrassment sat heavy in Luther’s body. He was being treated with kid’s gloves - first by his family, now by this group of total strangers, and he certainly didn’t need anyone’s pity.

That week, he arrived at the museum early and was directed to the management offices on the top floor of the building, where a receptionist pointed him towards the conference room down the hall. He entered just as Wendy seemed to be finishing the setup, Mrs. Gabriel perched on a cabinet, waving her bangled arm with instructions.

“Why did you change the committee meeting location?” Luther asked, forgoing his normal greetings, trying to keep his voice even. 

“Well hello Mr. Hargreeves, we’re experiencing lovely if not normal weather for this time of year, wouldn’t you say?” Mrs. Gabriel said mildly. “Wendy, it feels a little stuffy in here, would you ask maintenance to crank the AC up a bit?”

“Sure thing, Donna,” Wendy said, shooting Luther a smile. It was a surprisingly warm gesture and at odds with her darkly made-up face and outfit. The long leather skirt she wore _SWISHED_ loudly as she walked across the room, punctuated with the hollow _CLICK_ of her heels. 

“Hello Luther, glad you found the place okay,” she continued. “I’ll be back in a moment - did you want a bottle of water or something? We have some apples in the break room if you’d like.”

“Oh, uh no, I’m fine,” Luther said.

“Right,” Wendy said with another smile. She gave him a very pointed look before brushing past him, the bright and floral scent of her perfume swirling in her wake.

Mrs. Gabriel beckoned Luther further into the room and indicated a chair at the table for him to take a seat, which he did with some hesitation.

“Now,” Mrs. Gabriel said, sitting down in the chair next to him. “You were accusing me of something?”

This suddenly felt like a bad idea, and he squirmed in his seat. When standing, the top of Mrs. Gabriel’s artfully piled silver dreadlocks barely crossed Luther’s shoulders, but sitting down she could face him head-on, and even behind her leopard print glasses, her gaze somehow made him feel very small.

“I-I know you said something to the lawyers to get us to meet here instead of the Academy because you think I can’t handle being home,” Luther said, cheeks flaming. “And, you know, I appreciate you wanting to help and all, but you don’t have to. I am fine with us meeting at the Academy, it’s not a problem.”

To emphasize his point, he plastered on the biggest smile he could muster and forced his shoulders to relax. Mrs. Gabriel pursed her lips, looking less than impressed.

“Mr. Hargreeves, I do not bother myself with the art of pop psychology, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you’ve got quite an inflated sense of self,” Mrs. Gabriel said. “You are correct; I did request that we change the meeting locations to my office, but that was more for my benefit than anyone else’s. I do not like the Umbrella Academy, you see. You and your siblings seem alright, but your father was - if you don’t mind me saying - something of a bastard, and the house carries the dreadful pall of his bearings. And, most importantly, it does not have air conditioning. My offices do, hence the change.”

“With all do respect, Mrs. Gabriel, this move still does feel very personal,” Luther said awkwardly. “You don’t need to protect my feelings or anything, I am a grown man.”

“A word of advice, adults very rarely feel the need to reaffirm their grownness out loud,” Mrs. Gabriel said, an amused pull in her lips. “Fine - yes, your discomfort also played a factor in my decision. You know, I had a rather happy childhood by all accounts, and yet the idea of walking through my old home week after week and discussing how it would be best hacked apart and sold to the highest bidder would make me very upset. And I do hate to say it, but you don’t have much of a poker face.”

Luther thought this over, trying to carefully word his response. “Yes, being home again is…challenging,” he began. “But like you said, it would be for anyone. And again, Mrs. Gabriel, it is very nice of you to try to go out of your way to…to accommodate me, but I really don’t need you to. I’m not…I don’t like being singled out like this, if it’s all the same.”

And then, strangely, Mrs. Gabriel laughed. “Of course,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Mr. Hargreeves, I have no children of my own, nor have I ever desired any, so please do not take this as any attempt at mothering, but you might want to do yourself a favor and try growing up a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” Luther spluttered. “What?”

“Mr. Hargreeves, as children we ask for help, but it is a skill we unlearn as we grow until we believe that needing assistance for anything at all is a weakness,” Mrs. Gabriel said over him, her voice clear and firm. “And that is the vainglorious delusion of both misanthropes and teenagers alike. Let me tell you, however, what real weakness is - it is that which allows you to look at the care someone is treating you with and see it an imposition.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you - ”

“I’m well aware,” Mrs. Gabriel said, silencing him with the slightest raise of her hand. “But your intentions, while very nice, carry less weight than their impact.” 

And he knew that, maybe more than she would ever understand, because some nights when he closed his eyes he could still see Vanya glowing white with rage and power, wielding her violin like a weapon. Luther stared at his folded hands, wishing that the roof overhead would come crashing down and bury him whole. Hadn’t he already learned this lesson before? He felt idiotic, more embarrassed now than when he had stepped foot into the building earlier.

A soft knock interrupted them, and Wendy stood in the doorframe, holding a bottle of water. “AC has being cranked up, Donna,” she said. 

Mrs. Gabriel stood and brushed her hands along her pants. “Wendy, I have just remembered that I have a phone call scheduled in twenty minutes time that I cannot miss, so I will not be joining today’s meeting. You have my notes on this week’s proposals, please report out in my place.”

“Of course,” Wendy said, looking uncertainly between her and Luther.

“And Mr. Hargreeves?” Mrs. Gabriel turned back to him. “Do yourself another favor and spend some time in our museum. You look like a soul in much need of art. Wendy will show you where to start following the meeting.”

It was the longest meeting Luther had attended yet, and he spent the whole time sinking in on himself. He was thirty-three years old and had just been made to feel like a toddler, verbally eviscerated by a woman he could’ve picked up and tossed across the room one-handed.

He was out of his seat the moment the meeting ended, eager to put this building and the whole confrontation behind him, but Wendy caught him at the elevator bay.

“Donna said to show you around some,” she said with a shrug. “And trust me, I’d rather do that than have to go back to my desk and file expense reports for the rest of the afternoon.”

They rode the elevator together down to the visitor’s entrance, where Wendy grabbed a paper map before leading Luther to a cafe in the atrium. It was a bright, airy space with a highly-domed, glass ceiling that let the streaming sunlight in, making the marble hall glow. Small, carefully plotted gardens with flowers and trees lined the eating area, and brightly colored portraits of food and idyllic landscapes hung along the walls, their bronze placards shining. Muzak streamed from hidden speakers, which accompanied the low murmurs from surrounding tables, punctuated every so often with a shout of laughter or the cry of a young child.

Wendy directed them to one of the shiny, metal tables and, once seated, began circling different rooms with her pen, scribbling short descriptions in the margins. Luther watched her with only a passing interest.

“So, you got one of Donna’s infamous dress-downs, huh?” Wendy ask after a few minutes of pained silence. “You should count yourself lucky; she usually only reserves those for people on her payroll.”

She smirked up at him, though not unkindly. But Luther frowned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms sullenly.

“You heard what she said to me?” he asked.

“No, but I can tell by the ho-hum expression on your face,” Wendy said, pointing at him with her pen. “Trust me, I’ve seen this look a _lot_.”

“Well, I’m not on her staff and I didn’t ask for her help, or her advice,” Luther groused. “She must be horrible to work for.” 

“Who, Donna? Nah, she’s awesome,” Wendy chuckled. “I’ve been with her for eight years now and she’s super cool - lets me wear whatever I want, choose any projects I want and trusts me to do my job without micromanaging, which is a rarity. She just calls ‘em like she see ‘em, you know? Gotta love a blunt bitch.”

Luther drummed his fingers on the table. “Did I really look so unhappy during the meetings at the Academy?” he asked finally.

“You looked like you were ready to jump off the nearest balcony,” Wendy said, eyebrows raised. “Especially after that first meeting where Donna mentioned moving your brother. Honestly, I thought you were going to breakdown right there.”

“Great, that’s awesome,” Luther said derisively. “Everyone in that group must think I’m a joke. An overly-sensitive, useless joke. I didn’t used to be like this, you know. I used to be sort of on top of things. Not exactly sure when that changed.”

“I don’t think you’re a joke,” Wendy said, and she blushed scarlet when Luther looked at her in surprise. “That is to say - look, I don’t know what anyone else is thinking, but it seems to me that maybe you’re just having a rough time? With your dad dying and having to sell the family home and all. That sounds tough, and anyone in your shoes would be struggling a bit. Add in the ex-superhero thing and I’m honestly surprised you’re still standing.”

A group of school children ran by them, screaming and laughing. Wendy watched them thoughtfully, tapping her pen rhythmically against the table. “I’ve been there too, if that helps,” she said after a moment. “Feeling like you _used to be_ on top of things and all. I know it’s probably not the same since I wasn’t part of the Justice League or whatever like you were - ”

“It’s the Umbrella Academy,” Luther corrected.

“Same shit, different costumes,” Wendy huffed, rolling her eyes. “But I get what it’s like to wake up one day and look at your life and just think - ‘I am so far from the person I thought I was going to be as a kid.’ And you weren’t necessarily happy then but you’re not so sure you’re any happier now and you just want to, I don’t know, go back in time. Do it all over.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Luther said softly. Her words struck a chord with him, and he wondered how she had so succinctly put into words what he had been feeling for months. 

Wendy raised her hands and fluttered her fingers in mock celebration. “Welcome to your mid-twenties crisis,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or I guess in your case your early-thirties crisis? Either way, welcome, everything is shit.”

“What was your crisis about?” Luther asked without thinking. “Oh fuck, sorry, that’s probably really personal.”

“It’s not a problem,” Wendy said, holding his gaze thoughtfully. The silvery light of the atrium made her eyes look very dark and glassy, and highlighted the dark sheen of her hair. Paired with her dark, red lips, she seemed to him like a silent movie star - someone who was supposed to be seen only in black-and-white but was, against all odds, alive in technicolor. She fit in well here, among the art.

“I wanted to be a comic book artist,” she told him. “But I’m not really as artistically inclined as I thought - even after spending a small fortune on school and classes - and it’s not really a career path for the mediocre. I started working here as a way to pay the bills while trying to break into the industry, but it’s been almost a decade and I haven’t updated my portfolio in years, let alone apply anywhere.”

“You’re still pretty young, you could get your big break at any time,” Luther pointed out.

Wendy smiled sadly and shook her head. “Every year there are kids graduating from art school who are younger, more connected and just more talented than I am,” she said ruefully. “Plus, what am I gonna do, quit my job and become an unpaid intern at twenty-nine? Who would pay my rent - my succulents? And don’t even get me started on healthcare. No, I’m kind of landlocked. Most days I’ve accepted that, but every so often I just have these moments of like, ‘what the fuck, Wendy? How did you even get here?’”

“I’m sorry,” Luther said lamely, not knowing what else he could say. He found it strangely unnerving that Wendy - with her dark makeup and loud, scary clothes, her _fuck you_ attitude and her self-assured smile - would ever find herself so stuck that she felt her only option was giving up. 

“That’s sweet, but you don’t need to be sorry. That’s just life, you know? You’re disappointed for a bit and then you put that energy into something more productive,” she said. She tipped her head to the side, eyes far away, and asked, “You know what happens to a dream deferred, right?”

“Er…hang on, I know this one,” Luther said, scrunching up his face as he tried to remember one of his literature lessons. The line sounded familiar. “Something about a raisin in the sun, right?”

There was a bright gleam in Wendy’s eyes. “So close,” she said, scribbling something down on the top of the map and sliding it over for Luther to investigate. “Take some time and figure it out and get back to me. What are you reading right now, anyways?”

“Um,” Luther blanched. “Nothing, I guess.”

“So that’s probably part of your problem,” Wendy said, drumming her pen again. “Trust me, if you start filling your free time with stuff that interests you it makes everything else feel so much easier. Get a library card, jam out to some music, see what you like. And listen, Donna was right, the art will help too. You really should spend some time here.”

“I’d like to,” Luther said honestly. “But I don’t have a membership, and I don’t think I can afford the entrance fee.”

“Entrance fee? Luther, this is a public museum, we work on suggested donations,” Wendy said, waving her hand dismissively. “And if you want to skip that you can just bring me an iced coffee every once in a while and I’ll call it even."

“I can do that,” he said. “I don’t know much about art though.”

“Well, what better place to learn than a museum?” Wendy said. She stood and collected her bag and pen. “I hate to run, but I really do have to file those reports by the end of day. And, Luther, you have my number - give me a call if you want any recommendations or if you remember what happens to a dream deferred. I’m only an elevator ride away.”

Luther remained at the table long after she’d gone, while her perfume still lingered in the chair she’d left behind. He held the map tightly in his hands, reading her scribbled notes like they were cipher. 

On the way home, he stopped at the library and signed up for a card. With the help of the librarian, he checked-out a copy of Langston Hughes poetry and found the answer to Wendy’s question almost immediately.

_What happens to a dream deferred?  
_ _…does it explode?_

\- - -

Over the next few weeks, Luther began making it a habit to explore the museum after committee meetings. With Wendy’s map in hand, he would choose an exhibit and walk around, reading every single bronzed plaque and every description under the paintings.

Some he found dull. Sir Reginald had been a man of fine tastes, and the Academy had been filled with art of all types - landscapes and portraits, china figurines and sculpted statues - and the seascapes and still lifes reminded him a bit too much of what his father deemed ‘true art.’ 

But the museum was enormous, containing thousands of pieces from all over the world. And with every visit, Luther discovered something wonderful; sculptures that looked like they had been breathed to life rather than carved into stone slabs, shining suits of armor and sharpened swords, paper prints that gleamed with real golden edges, jewelry spun from precious metals and gems, black-and-white photo series and loose-leaf scribbles from an artist’s sketchbook.

The summer wore on and the committee began meeting less frequently, but Luther still made time to stop by the museum as often as he could. Vanya had recommended a few books about some of the painters, which he sometimes brought along to read in the atrium when he grew tired of standing. Wendy’s hours were shorter in the summer, and she would often walk with him down the long halls, pointing to different installations and describing the salacious backroom intel on how it had all come together. And on days that he stayed especially late, Diego would pick him up on his drive home so that he wasn’t forced to ride the bus all the way across the city.

It was nice, this routine of his, nice to have a space that he didn’t necessarily have to share with his siblings, a place that was all his. And admittedly, Mrs. Gabriel had been right - the art really was helping. He found himself relaxing during his forays deep into the museum, happily losing himself among the colors, shapes and shine of the art.

It seemed like a building that existed separately from the world around it, which is why Lila’s presence there was so much of a shock.

He stumbled upon her late one afternoon at the end of the summer, sitting on one of the benches in the post-impressionist exhibit. Although she gave off the air of minding her own business, she was clearly waiting for him and perked up ever so slightly when he entered.

Overcoming his initial Luther sat next to her and stared at the painting in front of them, waiting for her to say something. The tales of Lila over the past year and some odd months had all reached him eventually, and in truth, he had been waiting for her to show up. Just not here.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure I would consider this one art,” Lila said after a few moments of silence. “It’s just a bunch of random colors. Bet you I could finger paint something better than this.”

“I think that was kind of the point, though,” Luther said thoughtfully. “With it just being a mess of colors and no fine lines - like, what is art, is it the form or the color? And who gets to say? I don’t know, I think it’s kind of cool.”

Lila turned towards him, eyebrow raised. “Wasn’t expecting that,” she said with a surprised laugh. “Look at you! D’you work here now or something?”

“No, just trying to develop a hobby,” Luther said with a shrug. “Figure out what I like separate from the Umbrella Academy. You look good, by the way. Less like a living corpse than Allison had described.”

He wasn’t lying - after what Allison had told him, he expected that whenever he inevitably ran into Lila he’d find her to be heavily scarred and scary-thin, but she was neither. More than just her appearance though, Lila seemed, for lack of a better word, _calm_. She emanated none of the fiery bravado from their fight in Dallas, nor the frightened and skittish air that Five had described. She seemed perfectly at ease sitting next to him, almost content.

She scrunched up her nose at his compliment. “Thanks, I guess,” she said. “Although if Allison hadn’t found me I probably would be much more corpselike. How is she, by the way?”

“She’s good,” Luther said. “She’s been in Los Angeles for a few weeks filming a new movie but she’ll be back next month, and Claire’s coming with her.”

“Oh goody, the pipsqueak returns,” Lila muttered.

“You back to work things out with Diego?” he asked bluntly.

Lila titled her head to one side, considering the artwork before them. “I’m here to see some art,” she said eventually. “And…if Diego were to show up here it might…be easier, I suppose.”

“You’re nervous,” Luther said, nodding his head towards her fingers where they plucked at a loose thread on her jeans.

“Am not,” she snapped. When he raised an eyebrow at her she sighed and said, much softer, “maybe a little.”

“Love, right?” Luther asked, giving her his best reassuring smile. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

Lila groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my _god_ , you really _are_ like this, aren’t you? I knew I should’ve gone to Vanya instead.”

“What? Hey no, I’m just trying to be helpful,” Luther said quickly. “I can _be_ helpful. And all I meant is you two seem to have kind of a complicated thing going on, that’s all. I can’t imagine that’s been easy for either of you.”

Lila lifted her head and looked him over with narrowed eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be an asshole,” she said. “Diego always said you were an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the pot calling the kettle black in a big way,” he said. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“Not with you,” she said harshly, before amending, “not before I talk to him, anyways.”

“Then why come find me first?” he asked. “Why not just go to him instead?”

She kicked her red boots along the floor, twisting the toe into the polished wood. “He’s probably pissed at me. Again,” she said. “Not that I probably don’t deserve it too, but if he is…I just thought I’d be easier if I had, you know…”

“A wingman?”

“A buffer.”

“I’m a pretty good wingman, or at least I think I would be,” Luther reasoned. He glanced at the clock over the doorframe and stood, stretching. “He’ll be by here in a few minutes to pick me up on his way home, so I guess we can see together if I’m any good as a buffer.”

“Here’s for hoping I don’t need one,” Lila muttered. She reached under the bench and pulled out a black briefcase, the edges battered and worn. “I didn’t realize you still had your training wheels on. Well, let’s get going, big boy - lead the way.” 

She was silent as they walked side-by-side to the entrance hall, and Luther - who was never great with the quiet to begin with - filled the space, pointing out different pieces he liked, sharing some of the gossip Wendy had told him, and generally carrying on a one-sided conversation as best he could.

“You should be a tour guide with all the shit you know,” Lila observed as they came up to the front doors. 

Luther had never considered that, and was about to say as much when he heard his name called.

“I’m so glad I caught you!” Wendy said, rushing towards him carrying what looked suspiciously like his folder of proposal notes. Today she wore a sleeveless, navy blue jumpsuit over a silk, white undershirt, the short sleeves leaving the wide expanse of her arms bare, showcasing the different tattoos inked across her skin.

“Oh shit, knew I was forgetting something,” Luther smiled.

“Yeah, but at least I know where to find you,” she answered, her eyes sparkling. It was then that she caught sight of Lila, lingering at Luther’s elbow. 

“Oh, um, hello,” Wendy said awkwardly, glancing between her and Luther, perfectly manicured eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here with someone.”

“I’m not!” Luther yelped at the same time Lila snorted, “he wishes!”

“This is Lila, my brother Diego’s, uh, friend,” Luther stammered. “She’s here to, uh, surprise him!”

“I’ve been on holiday,” Lila cut in. 

“Right, holiday,” Luther laughed, a little too loudly. “So I’m not _here_ with her, I’m just here _with_ her. Oh wait, I mean I’m not with anyone at all. Here. I’m not _here_ with anyone at all - ”

“Luther, take a deep breath, I understand,” Wendy said, looking very relieved. “I have to get back and close-up for the day, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget these. Maybe you could give me your number? So that if this does happen again I could just call instead of running around after you.”

“Sure, that’s not a bad idea,” he said, wishing desperately for a pen. Thankfully, Wendy had one tucked behind her ear, which she offered and he quickly scribbled down his home phone on the edge of one of the proposals.

“Great,” Wendy beamed as he ripped off the tiny corner of paper and handed it over. “And you have mine, right? Good, well try and use it some time. It was nice to meet you, Lila.”

Luther watched Wendy’s receding form, wondering exactly what had just happened. He was so caught up in it that he completely forgot about Lila standing just behind him and jumped when she spoke up. 

“She is way too cool for you.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Luther agreed. He could feel himself flushing from the tip of his ears down to the pads of his fingers, something in his stomach fluttering in a way that made him feel lightheaded. “Come on, Diego’s probably already waiting.”

\- - -

_This is the last time I promise  
_ _I have to do this but I am coming back  
_ _I promise  
_ _Yes for me too_

_Yes for me too._

For months now, the same four words swirled in Diego’s head.

_Yes for me too._

Whenever he began to doubt, whenever he turned around and expected her to be there, whenever her absence ached like a physical wound, all he had to do was reach for the note she had left - which he kept on him like a talisman, along with the bracelet he now routinely wore - and remind himself that he had come as close to saying ‘I love you’ as he possibly could and so, in turn, had she. 

Sometimes, he was astounded by his own faith in Lila. Summer was drawing to an end and this was the longest she had gone without appearing, and yet he knew without a doubt that she would return, knew she would make her way back to him when she was ready. 

He just wished he knew when that would be. 

Diego had privately come to terms with the fact that this was it for him - that for better or worse, there would only ever be Lila. Even if it killed him, even as it crumbled his already-shattered heart to dust, he knew he would never be able to move on from her if there was even the slightest chance she’d one day return to his side.

And so, he went about his days and waited, fighting back his anger, fighting back his sadness, clinging only to the hope she had left, choosing to believe her promise to come back.

Life went on that summer. He worked at the gym and read during his spare time. He went to brunch with Vanya and Klaus and accompanied Five to the world’s most boring physics lecture.

(“That information would’ve been incredibly useful to you in order to improve your trajectory manipulation abilities!” Five fumed afterwards. “I can’t believe you _snored_ through the whole thing!”

“You call it trajectory manipulation, I call it killer aim,” Diego snorted. “Chill out bro, a bunch of dumb little equations on a board aren’t going to help me do shit. Besides, who said I need to improve anything? I’m already awesome.”)

They moved Ben. He traveled to Los Angeles with Allison to see Claire and spend a few days by himself, running laps across the sandy beaches at sunrise. He came home in time to see Vanya’s solo performance during the Summer Concert series in the park, which she performed in front of thousands of people. He went to see movies with Klaus. He picked up Luther from the art museum and they talked about their days.

And he waited.

In fact, he was so caught up in the waiting that when he did finally see her again he didn’t even register it.

The sun was starting to set behind the museum, and he held his hand against the glare as he watched Luther emerge from the building, a short woman in tow. His brother had been not-so-casually mentioning a girl who worked there for weeks now, and Diego was struck but how much she looked like Lila from a distance when he saw the briefcase in her hand.

He was out of his car and over to them before they even reached the sidewalk.

“Hi,” was all he could say.

“Hi,” Lila replied, bouncing awkwardly on the balls of her feet. 

Standing on the lowest step of the museum entrance, she was very nearly eye level with him, which made it easy to take in how much she had changed since he saw her last. Her cheeks were fuller and sun-dark, her long hair glossy and pulled back into a low ponytail and her bangs grown out, tucked behind ears that were pierced with tiny, golden hoops. 

“Hi Diego,” Luther said smugly. “Look who I ran into.”

“I said I was coming back,” Lila said, a note of defensiveness creeping into her tone.

“I know, I believed you,” Diego said.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. He knew they were standing in the foot of an entrance way in the middle of the sidewalk, that there were people all around and that he was parked in a no-parking zone, but he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Luther cleared his throat, loudly. “As scintillating as this reunion is, d’ya think maybe we should head out? People are staring.”

“Actually, I was wondering if we could go somewhere and talk?” Lila asked Diego. “I know a place, and it’s not a far drive.”

“I can take the bus home,” Luther said after a moment, looking unhappy but resigned to the prospect.

“Great,” Lila said and then, surprisingly, turned to Luther and shoved the black briefcase into his arms. “Mind taking that with you? Five should know the proper safety protocols for stashing it.”

“Um…”

“Let’s put this in my trunk instead,” Diego said, taking it gingerly from Luther. “Don’t want you accidentally opening it on the way home and ending up in Vietnam like Klaus.”

“Thanks man.” Luther turned and gave Lila a pleased smirk. “Guess you didn’t need much of a buffer after all, huh?”

“What?”

“Okay, bye Luther,” Lila said loudly, grabbing Diego’s hand and stalking off towards his car. 

They left Luther behind on the steps, grinning after them broadly, before he turned and walked back up into the museum. Later, Luther recounted how he had been inspired but the two of them to wait for Wendy, asking her out on a date as soon as she had crossed into the lobby, bag in hand and ready to leave for the day. 

(And as Wendy would later confide to the family, Luther’s retelling depicted a much smoother dinner proposal than what had actually occurred, but it was a nice story all the same.)

\- - -

Lila directed Diego as he navigated down side streets, the car moving at a slow crawl amid the rush hour traffic. Still, in no time at all, he parked outside a nondescript apartment building and followed Lila though the front door and up four flights of stairs. The hallways were dingy and smelled slightly of boiled cabbage, and the door they stopped in front of had the unit number scratched into the paint. It stuck in the frame once she had unlocked it, requiring her to ram it with her hip twice before finally getting it to open.

Not entirely sure what he was expecting inside, Diego was surprised to find a clean and bright studio apartment. Golden-red light streamed in from the venetian blinds of the large windows, elongating the shadows of the half-unpacked cardboard boxes that were scattered along the floor. Towards the back of the space, a large mattress lay half-hidden behind a wooden separating screen in an alcove, piles of books haphazardly pushed to one side.

He went further into the room, examining the mismatched furniture and glass frames of art that leaned against the walls waiting to be hung - blue swirls of Arabic calligraphy, water colored pastels of the Seine and of Big Ben, Japanese paper prints trimmed in green and silver. 

“Do you like those?” Lila asked, watching him expectantly. “I collected some knick-knacks while traveling. Not very utilitarian, but I thought they were kind of pretty.”

He said nothing but walked into the kitchenette where an assortment of plates and cups lined the sink, their flea market price tags still affixed on stickers. 

“Lila, who’s place is this?”

In response, she pulled a bundle of papers from the top drawer of a cabinet fixed into the wall and presented them to him.

“‘The lease, made on the first of August between the Blackman Management Company, here in after referred to as landlord, and Lila Pitts, here in after referred to as tenant, shall adhere to the following terms for one year,’” Diego began reading aloud before cutting himself off to glance at Lila, who was biting at the cuticle of her thumb. “What is this?”

“What does it sound like?” She asked, rolling her eyes. “It’s a year’s lease for this apartment. I signed it two weeks ago. Welcome to my home.”

Diego needed to sit down. There was a gray couch in the center of the room and Lila plopped down next to him as he skimmed through the papers in his hands. It all looked official enough, and the last page had all the requisite signatures in blue and black ink. It was a standard lease agreement, and yet he was having a hard time accepting the reality of it.

“Oh, go on, say something,” Lila said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “You’re driving me crazy over here.”

“You rented an apartment,” Diego croaked. “You signed a year’s lease.”

“Uh-huh.”

“For a full year.”

“Yep.”

“How are you paying for this?”

“I paid the whole year upfront actually,” Lila said. “I went back to the Commission and had a chat with Herb - he’s still acting Chair, did you know that? Apparently bona fide board members are hard to come by these days, especially after what happened to the last bunch. Anyways, my mum had a pretty good life insurance policy of which I was her beneficiary, and Herb helped with all the red-tape bullshit. Took a while to process, but after taxes and all it was enough to get me started out here. And…I got a job.”

Somehow, in the middle of the whirlwind of information this was the most shocking thing of all, and Diego couldn’t help but laugh.

“I did! Don’t make fun,” she insisted, knocking her boot against his shin in a light kick. “It’s at some hipster coffee shop by the museum. I’ll probably hate it, but whatever, they play good music there at least and it’s not too far from here if I catch the right bus.”

Apartment leases and jobs and buses…Diego groaned and tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

“Just, hang on, I’m trying to process this,” he said, feeling the weight of Lila’s worried stare. He sat forward and faced her. “So let me see if I have this right. After leaving Allison’s, you went to the Commission.”

“No,” Lila shook her head. “After leaving Allison’s I went back to London to see my parents’ graves. I was there for a few weeks but the hostel I was staying at was disgusting and one day I really wanted an eclair so I went to Paris.”

“You wanted an eclair so you went to Paris,” Diego repeated.

“Yes, keep up,” Lila huffed. “But Paris is so, _bleh_ , you know? I was only there for a month and then I went down to Marseilles. But I don’t like speaking French so I moved to Rabat - that’s in Morocco, by the way. After that they kind of all run together - I was planning on spending the summer in Lagos but it was too bloody hot so I went to Buenos Aires, then I hiked the Andes. I was going to winter in Bogota, but I decided last minute to cut that trip short and ended up crisscrossing Indonesia for a few months. Then I wanted to see all those -stan countries - you know, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan and Tajikistan - which were really lovely, actually. And then I went on holiday to India to see if I could find some family there, but that was a bust.”

“Sounds like you’ve been gone a while,” Diego observed weakly. “It’s only been a few months for me but for you…”

“I’ve been traveling for about a year,” Lila said, grinning at the expression on his face. “I’m officially older than you, by the way.”

“So, when you left because you said you had to do something, you really just wanted to travel,” he said bitterly.

The grin fell from Lila’s face. “If you must know, I left because I was looking for a reason to stay _,_ ” she said. “Or, at least, a reason to stop running. I thought about it a lot, but there always seemed to be a reason to stay away.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“And then one morning,” she breezed over him. “About a month or so ago I was napping on a beach in Bali and I woke up and just thought to myself ‘I’d really like to go home now.’ And this was the only place that felt right.”

She was still watching him carefully, her face open and brow creased. The dying sunlight made her glow, highlighting the shiny, thin scar on her cheek. She was too close not to touch and he brushed his fingers along the back of her hand, skimming the silvery, hard skin that encircled her wrists. Even the months in the sun hadn’t been able to completely erase the scars of all that she had suffered. As much as he hated her running, it’s not like he didn’t get it, didn’t understand what she was trying to escape.

“And you traded Bali for this?” he asked softly, nodding his head towards the unpacked boxes.

“You weren’t in Bali,” she said simply, twisting her hand around under his and pressing their palms together. “You weren’t in London, or Paris, or New Delhi, or Kyoto. You were here, with your family. And if this is where you’re going to be, then this is where I want to be, because I love you. And I know you’re probably still angry with me for a load of reasons, but I also know you love me too, so I guess I can deal with you being mad at me for a bit.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions there,” Diego said, mouth dry.

“You’ve basically already told me as much back at Allison’s,” Lila said, and she extended her fingers and tapped the bracelet he wore. “Plus, this isn’t very subtle.”

“I meant about being mad ‘for a bit,’” Diego said, smiling despite himself.

“Diego - ”

He slid his hand along her warm cheek, drawing her close and kissing his name from her lips. She sighed against him and he brought his other hand up to cup her face, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You’re staying?”

“I’m staying.” 

And she leaned forward, her mouth hot against his, gathering her legs beneath her and leaning up on her knees to hover over him, her hands firmly on his chest.

“I do love you,” he broke away, stroking the hair that had been loosened from its elastic back behind her ear, drawing his thumb along the scar on her cheek. “And I am so pissed at you.”

Her eyes were dark, her face and throat flushed. The pink of her tongue was distracting as it darted out, moistening her bottom lip. 

“And?” she asked.

“And you’re staying. So right now, I don’t even care.”

The feel of her tongue against his made him shiver with want, and he ran his hands down her body, pulling her harder against him, his fingers seeking out the smooth skin of her back as her shirt bunched up.

“Wait, I have a bed, it’s new and everything,” Lila gasped as he bit softly at the pulse on her throat.

“Don’t you dare leave this couch,” Diego growled in response.

They did make it to the mattress in the corner eventually, well after night had fallen. Bathed in the oily orange glow from the street lamps outside, they lay curled towards each other, whispering until sleep overtook them both.

The morning was soft and silver, the open blinds letting the sun in and drawing Diego slowly from his sleep. Lila lay draped across his chest, snoring gently. 

With a start, Diego realized this was the first time he had woken up with her still by his side. The thought made something in his chest ache, and he dragged his fingers over her bare arm, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

The sun continued to rise, and Diego dozed, always awaking to the joy of finding Lila still there. He made no move to wake her or leave the bed, and was in no rush to break this bubble of warmth and promise, did not feel like they were occupying stolen moments together. Instead, he felt that maybe they had earned a quiet, slow morning, deserved this time to linger with no where to be, nothing to run from, and no one to run to.

And when Lila did awake, turning to kiss him sleepily before complaining about the sunlight, he felt - strangely, frighteningly, wonderfully - like maybe they finally had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is thank you for reading! The response to this story has been amazing, and I hope the whole journey was worth it. I appreciate y'all so much!
> 
> \- - - - - - - - 
> 
> \- The first section was inspired by the following quote from _Falling Man_ by Don Delillo: _"These are the days after. Everything now is measured by after."_ Honestly, it is true that if you put 100 monkeys in a room with a typewriter they will inevitably bang out a Shakespeare sonnet, and that’s essentially what Don did here. Great quote, bad book.
> 
> \- Mrs. Gabriel was named for Gabriel Bá, the illustrator of _The Umbrella Academy_ comics.
> 
> \- _"The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion,"_ Walt Whitman, _I Sing The Body Electric: 6._
> 
> \- _“Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.”_ Romeo and Juliet, Act III scene i.
> 
> \- _"What happens to a dream deferred?"_ Langston Hughes, _Harlem_. (Yes, I know this poem is about Black Americans struggling against racial injustices, but it also is about weathering the steady stream of disappointment until all that energy boils and explodes outwards, forcing action, which felt like a fitting trajectory of Luther's story).
> 
> \- Wendy's navy blue jumpsuit is a reference to the now infamous season two outfit from _Fleabag._
> 
> \- Blackman Management Company was named for Steve Blackman, the _Umbrella Academy_ showrunner.

**Author's Note:**

> Appreciate the support! Comment/like/whatever if you liked, send hate mail to @wyrd-syster on tumblr.


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